
Book_JLo_Li_ 



"Paul et Virginie, which may be considered as the 
last speech o£ old Feudal France. In it there rises 
melodiously, as it were, the wail of a moribund world : 
everywhere wholesome Nature in unequal conflict with 
diseased perfidious Art ; cannot escape from it in the 
lowest hut, in the remotest island of the sea. Ruin and 
death must strike down the loved one ; and, what is most 
significant of all, death even here not by necessity but by 
etiquette, y^hat a world of prurient corruption lies vis- 
ible in that super-sublime of modestyj) Yet, on the whole, 
our good Saint-Pierre is musical, poetical though most 
morbid : we will call his Book the swan-song of old dying 
France." — CarlyWs French Revolution. 



MEMOIR OF ST. PIERRE. 



. 



; i 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 



\p' 



V 



<p^^ 



\ 



<^ K 





Infancy of 



Paul and Virginia. — Page 58. 



MEMOIR. 



TTENRI-JACQUES BERNARDIN de 
St. PIERRE was born at Havre in 
1737.' He always considered himself de- 
scended from that Eustache de St. Pierre, 
who is said by Froissart (and I believe by 
Froissart only) to have so generously offered 
himself as a victim to appease the wrath of 
Edward the Third against Calais. He, with 
his companions in virtue, it is also said, was 
saved by the intercession of Queen Philippa. 
In one of his smaller works, Bernardin as- 
serts this descent, and it was certainly one 
of which he might be proud. Many anec- 
dotes are related of his childhood, indicative 
of the youthful author, — of his strong love 
of Nature, and his humanity to animals. 



H- 



8 MEMOIR OF ST. PIERRE* 

That "the child is father of the man/' has 
been seldom more strongly illustrated. At 
eight years of age, he took the greatest 
pleasure in the regular culture of his gar- 
den ; and possibly then stored up some of 
the ideas which afterwards appeared in the 
" Fraisier." His sympathy with all living 
things was extreme. In " Paul and Vir- 
ginia/' he praises, with evident satisfaction, 
their meal of milk and eggs, which had not 
cost any animal its life. It has been re- 
marked, and possibly with truth, that every 
tenderly disposed heart, deeply imbued with 
a love of Nature, is at times somewhat Bra- 
minical. St. Pierre's certainly was. 

When quite young, he advanced with a 
clenched fist towards a carter who was ill- 
treating a horse. And when taken for the 
first time, by his father, to Rouen, having 
the towers of the cathedral pointed out to 
him, he exclaimed, " My God ! how high 
they fly." Every one present naturally 



MEMOIR OF ST. PIERRE. 9 

laughed. Bernardin had only noticed the 
flight of some swallows who had built their 
nests there. He thus early revealed those 
instincts which afterwards became the guid- 
ance of his life : the strength of which pos- 
sibly occasioned his too great indifference to 
all monuments of art. The love of study 
and of solitude were also characteristics of 
his childhood. His temper is said to have 
been moody, impetuous, and intractable. 
Whether this "faulty temper may not have 
been produced or rendered worse by mis- 
management, cannot now be ascertained. 
It undoubtedly became, afterwards, to St. 
Pierre, a fruitful source of misfortune and 
of woe. 

The reading of voyages was with him, 
even in childhood, almost a passion. At 
twelve years of age, his whole soul was 
occupied by Robinson Crusoe and his island. 
His romantic love of adventure seeming to 
his parents to announce a predilection in 



io MEMOIR OF ST. PIERRE. 

favor of the sea, he was sent by them with 
one of his uncles to Martinique. But St. 

Pierre had not sufficiently practised the vir- 
tue of obedience to submit, as was necessary, 
to the discipline of a ship. He was after- 
wards placed with the Jesuits at Caen, with 
whom he made immense progress in his 
studies. But, it is to be feared, he did not 
conform too well to the regulations of the 
college, for he conceived, from that time, the 
greatest detestation for places of public edu- 
cation. And this aversion he has frequently 
testified in his writings. While devoted to 
his books of travels, he in turn anticipated 
being a Jesuit, a missionary, or a martyr ; 
but his family at length succeeded in estab- 
lishing him at Rouen, where he completed 
his studies with brilliant success, in 1757. 
He soon after obtained a commission as an 
engineer, with a salary of 100 louis. In this 
capacity he was sent (1760) to Dusseldorf, 
under the command of Count St. Germain. 



MEMOIR OF ST. PIERRE. II 

This was a career in which he might have 
acquired both honor and fortune ; but, most 
unhappily for St. Pierre, he looked upon the 
useful and necessary etiquettes of life as so 
many unworthy prejudices. Instead of con- 
forming to them, he sought to trample on 
them. In addition, he evinced some dispo- 
sition to rebel against his commander, and 
was unsocial with his equals. It is not, 
therefore, to be wondered at, that at this 
unfortunate period of his existence, he made 
himself enemies ; or that, notwithstanding 
his great talents, or the coolness he had 
exhibited in moments of danger, he should 
have been sent back to France. Unwelcome, 
under these circumstances, to his family, he 
was ill received by all. 

It is a lesson yet to be learned, that 
genius gives no charter for the indulgence 
of error, — a truth yet to be remembered, 
that only a small portion of the world will 
look with leniency on the failings of the 



12 MEMOIR OF ST. PIERRE. 

highly-gifted ; and that, from themselves, 
the consequences of their own actions can 
never be averted. St. Pierre's life was sadly 
embittered by his own conduct. The adven- 
turous life he led after his return from Dus- 
seldorf, some of the circumstances of which 
exhibited him in an unfavorable light to 
others, tended, perhaps, to tinge his imagina- 
tion with that wild and tender melancholy so 
prevalent in his writings. A prize in the 
lottery had just doubled his very slender 
means of existence, when he obtained the 
appointment of geographical engineer, and 
was sent to Malta. The Knights of the 
Order were at this time expecting to be 
attacked by the Turks. Having already 
been in the service, it was singular that St. 
Pierre should have had the imprudence to 
sail without his commission. He thus sub- 
jected himself to a thousand disagreeables, 
for the officers would not recognize him as 
one of themselves. The effects of their 



MEMOIR OF ST. PIERRE. 13 

neglect on his mind were tremendous : his 
reason for a time seemed almost disturbed 
by the mortifications he suffered. After 
receiving an insufficient indemnity for the 
expenses of his voyage, St. Pierre returned 
to France, there to endure fresh misfortunes. 
Not being able to obtain any assistance 
from the ministry or his family, he resolved 
on giving lessons in the mathematics. But 
St. Pierre was less adapted than most others 
for succeeding in the apparently easy, but 
really ingenious and difficult, art of teaching. 
All minds, even to the youngest, require, 
while being taught, the utmost compliance 
and consideration ; and these qualities can 
scarcely be properly exercised without a true 
knowledge of the human heart, united to 
much practical patience. St. Pierre, at this 
period of his life, certainly did not possess 
them. It is probable that Rousseau, when 
he attempted in his youth to give lessons in 
music, not knowing any thing whatever of 



14 MEMOIR OF ST. PIERRE. 

music, was scarcely less fitted for the task of 
instruction, than St. Pierre with all his math- 
ematical knowledge. The pressure of pov- 
erty drove him to Holland. He was well 
received at Amsterdam, by a French refugee 
named Mustel, who edited a popular journal 
there, and who procured him employment, 
with handsome remuneration. St. Pierre did 
not, however, remain long satisfied with this 
quiet mode of existence. Allured by the 
encouraging reception given by Catherine II. 
to foreigners, he set out for St. Petersburg. 
Here, until he obtained the protection of the 
Marechal de Munich, and the friendship of 
Duval, he had again to contend with poverty. 
The latter generously opened to him his 
purse, and by the Marechal he was intro- 
duced to Viilebois, the Grand Master of 
Artillery, and by him presented to the 
Empress. St. Pierre was so handsome, that 
by some of his friends it was supposed, per- 
haps, too, hoped, that he would supersede 



MEMOIR OF ST. PIERRE. 15 

Orloff in the favor of Catherine. But more 
honorable illusions, though they were but 
illusions, occupied his own mind. He 
neither sought, nor wished, to captivate the 
Empress. His ambition was to establish a 
republic on the shores of the lake Aral, of 
which, in imitation of Plato or Rousseau, he 
was to be the legislator. Pre-occupied with 
the reformation of despotism, he did not 
sufficiently look into his own heart, or seek 
to avoid a repetition of the same error's that 
had already changed friends into enemies, 
and been such a terrible barrier to his suc- 
cess in life. His mind was already morbid, 
and in fancying that others did not under- 
stand him, he forgot that he did not under- 
stand others. The Empress, with the rank 
of captain, bestowed on him a grant of 1500 
francs; but when General Dubosquet pro- 
posed to take him with him to examine the 
military position of Finland, his only anxiety 
seemed to be to return to France: still he 



16 MEMOIR OF ST. PIERRE. 

went to Finland ; and his own notes of 
his occupations and experiments on that 
expedition, prove that he gave himself up in 
all diligence to considerations of attack and 
defence. He, who loved Nature so intently, 
seems only to have seen in the extensive and 
majestic forests of the north, a theatre of 
war. In this instance, he appears to have 
stifled every emotion of admiration, and to 
have beheld, alike, cities and countries in 
his character of military surveyor. 

On his return to St. Petersburg, he found 
his protector, Villebois, disgraced. St. 
Pierre then resolved on espousing the 
cause of the Poles. He went into Poland 
with a -high reputation, — that of having 
refused the favors of despotism, to aid 
the cause of liberty. But it was his pri- 
vate life, rather than his public career, that 
was affected by his residence in Poland. 
The Princess Mary fell in love with him, 
and, forgetful of all considerations, quitted 



MEMOIR OF ST. PIERRE. 17 

her family to reside with him. Yield- 
ing, however, at length, to the entreaties 
of her mother, she returned to her home. 
St. Pierre, filled with regret, resorted to 
Vienna; but being unable to support the 
sadness which oppressed him, and imag- 
ining that sadness to be shared by the 
Princess, he soon went back to Poland. 
His return was still more sad than his 
departure ; for he found himself regarded 
by her who had once loved him as an in- 
truder. It is to this attachment he alludes 
so touchingly in one of his letters. "Adieu! 
friends dearer than the treasures of India ! 
Adieu ! forests of the North, that I shall 
never see again ! — tender friendship, and 
the still dearer sentiment which surpassed 
it ! — days of intoxication and of happiness, 
adieu ! adieu ! We live but for a day, to 
die during a whole life ! " 

This letter appears to one of St. Pierre's 
most partial biographers, as if steeped in 



20 MEMOIR OF ST. PIERRE. 

It is sad to think, that misunderstanding 
should prevail to such an extent, and heart 
so seldom really speak to heart, in the in- 
tercourse of the world, that the most hu- 
mane may appear cruel, and the sympa- 
thising indifferent. Judging of Mile, de 
1'Espinasse from her letters, and the tes- 
timony of her contemporaries, it seems 
quite impossible that she could have given 
pain to any one, more particularly to a 
man possessing St. Pierre's extraordinary 
talent and profound sensibility. Both she 
and D'Alembert were capable of appreci- 
ating him ; but the society in which they 
moved laughed at his timidity, and the tone 
of raillery in which they often indulged, 
was not understood by him. It is certain 
that he withdrew from their circle w r ith 
wounded and mortified feelings, and, in 
spite of an explanatory letter from D'Alem- 
bert, did not return to it. The inflictors of 
all this pain, in the meantime, were possi- 



MEMOIR OF ST. PIERRE. 21 

bly quite unconscious of the meaning 
attached to their words. 

St. Pierre, in his "Preambule del'Arcadie," 
has pathetically and eloquently described 
the deplorable state of his health and feel- 
ings, after frequent humiliating disputes 
and disappointments had driven him from 
society ; or rather, when, like Rousseau, 
he was " self-banished " from it. 

"I was struck,'' he says, "with an extra- 
ordinary malady. Streams of fire, like 
lightning flashed before my eyes : every 
object appeared to me double or in mo- 
tion : like GEdipus, I saw two suns. . . . 
In the finest day of summer, I could not 
cross the Seine in a boat, without experi- 
encing intolerable anxiety. If, in a public 
garden, I merely passed by a piece of water, 
I suffered from spasms and a feeling of hor- 
ror. I could not cross a garden in which 
many people were collected : if they looked 
at me, I immediately imagined they were 



22 MEMOIR OF ST. PIERRE. 

speaking ill of me/' It was during this 
state of suffering, that he devoted himself 
with ardor to collecting and making use 
of materials for that work which was to 
give glory to his name. 

It was only by perseverance, and disre- 
garding many rough and discouraging re- 
ceptions, that he succeeded in making 
acquaintance with Rousseau, whom he so 
much resembled. St. Pierre devoted him- 
self to his society with enthusiasm, visiting 
him frequently and constantly, till Rous- 
seau departed for Ermenonville. It is not 
unworthy of remark, that both these men, 
such enthusiastic admirers of Nature and 
the natural in all things, should have pos- 
sessed factitious rather than practical vir- 
tue, and a wisdom wholly unfitted for the 
w r orld. St. Pierre asked Rousseau, in one 
of their frequent rambles, if in delineating 
St. Preux, he had not intended to represent 
himself. " No," replied Rousseau, " St. Preux 



MEMOIR OF ST. PIERRE. 23 

is not what I have been, but what I wished 
to be." St. Pierre would most likely have 
given the same answer, had a similar ques- 
tion been put to him with regard to the 
Colonel in " Paul and Virginia." This, at 



least, appears the sort of old age he loved 
to contemplate, and wished to realize. 

For six years, he worked at his " Etudes," 
and with some difficulty found a publisher 
for them. M. Didot, a celebrated typogra- 
pher, whose daughter St. Pierre afterwards 
married, consented to print a manuscript 
which had been declined by many ethers. 
He vis -veil rewarded for the undertaking. 
The success of the " Etudes de la N ature " 
surpassed the most sanguine expectation, 
even of the author. Four years after its pub- 
lication, St. Pierre gave to the world " Paul 
and Virginia," which had for some time 
been lying in his portfolio. He had tried 
its effect, in manuscript, on persons of dif- 
ferent characters and pursuits. They had 



24 MEMOIR OF ST. PIERRE. 

given it no applause ; but all had shed tears 
at its perusal : and, perhaps, few works of 
a decidedly romantic character have ever 
been so generally read, or so much approved. 
Among the great names whose admiration of 
it is on record, may be mentioned Napoleon 
and Humboldt. 

In 1789, he published " Les Voeux d'un 
Solitaire," and "La Suite des Voeux." By 
the Moniteur of the day, these works were 
compared to the celebrated pamphlets of 
Sieves, — " Ou'est-ce que le tiers etat ? " 
which then absorbed all the public favor. 
In 1 791, "La Chaumiere Indienne" was 
published ; and in the following year, about 
thirteen days before the celebrated 10th 
of August, Louis XVI. appointed St. Pierre 
superintendent of the "Jardin des Plantes." 

Although deficient in exact knowledge of 
the sciences, and knowing little of the 
world, St. Pierre was, by his simplicity, and 
the retirement in which he lived, well suited 



MEMOIR OF ST. PIERRE. 25 

at that epoch, to the situation. About this 
time, and when in his 57th year, he married 
Mile. Didot. 

In 1795, he became a member of the 
French Academy, and, as was just, after 
his acceptance of this honor, he wrote no 
more against literary societies. On the sup- 
pression of his place, he retired to Essonne. 
It is delightful to follow him there, and to 
contemplate his quiet existence. His days 
flowed on peaceably, occupied in the publi- 
cation of " Les Harmonies de la Nature," 
the republication of his earlier works, and 
the composition of some lesser pieces. He 
himself affectingly regrets an interruption 
to these occupations. On being appointed 
Instructor to the Normal School, he says, 
" I am obliged to hang my harp on the wil- 
lows of my river, and to accept an employ- 
ment useful to my family and my country. 
I am afflicted at having to suspend an 
occupation which has given me so much 
happiness.'' 



26 MEMOIR OF ST. PIERRE. 

He enjoyed, in his old age, a degree of 
opulence, which, as much as glory, had 
perhaps been the object of his ambition. 
In any case, it is gratifying to reflect, 
that after a life so full of chance and 
change, he was, in his latter years, sur- 
rounded by much that should accompany 
old age. His day of storms and tempests 
was closed by an evening of repose and 
beauty. 

Amid many other blessings, the elasticity 
of his mind was preserved to the last. He 
died at Eragny sur l'Oise on the 21st of 
January, 1814. The stirring events which 
then occupied France, or rather the whole 
world, caused his death to be little noticed 
at the time. The Academy did not, how- 
ever, neglect to give him the honors due to 
its members. Mons. Parseval Grand Maison 
pronounced a deserved eulogium on his tal- 
ents, and Mons. Aignan, also, the customary 
tribute, taking his seat as his successor. 



MEMOIR OF ST. PIERRE. 27 

Having himself contracted the habit of 
confiding his griefs and sorrows to the pub 
lie, the sanctuary of his private life was 
open alike to the discussion of friends and 
enemies. The biographer, who wishes to 
be exact, and yet set down nought in malice, 
is forced to the contemplation of his errors. 
The secret of many of these, as well as of 
his miseries, seems revealed. by himself in 
this sentence : " I experience more pain 
from a single thorn, than pleasure from a 
thousand roses. " And elsewhere, "The 
best society seems to me bad, if I find in 
it one troublesome, wicked, slanderous, en- 
vious, or perfidious person. " Now, taking 
into consideration that St. Pierre sometimes 
imagined persons who were really good, to 
be deserving of these strong and very con- 
tumelious epithets, it would have been diffi- 
cult indeed to find a society in which he 
could have been happy. He was, therefore, 
wise in seeking retirement, and indulging 



28 MEMOIR OF ST. PIERRE, 

in solitude. His mistakes, — for they were 
mistakes, — arose from a too quick percep- 
tion of evil, united to an exquisite and 
diffuse sensibility. When he felt wounded 
by a thorn, he forgot the beauty and per- 
fume of the rose to which it belonged, and 
from which, perhaps, it could not be sepa- 
rated. And he was exposed (as often hap- 
pens) to the very description of trials that 
were least in harmony with his defects. 
Few dispositions could have run a career 
like his, and have remained unscathed. 
But one less tender than his own would 
have been less soured by it. For many 
years he bore about with him the co nscious - 
ness o f un acknowledged talent. The world 
cannot be blamed for not appreciating that 
which had never been revealed. But we 
know not what the jostling and elbowing 
of that world, in the meantime, may have 
been to him — how often he may have felt 
himself unworthily treated — or how far that 



MEMOIR OF ST. PIERRE. 29 

treatment may have preyed upon and cor- 
roded his heart. Who shall say, that with 
this consciousness there did not mingle a 
quick and instinctive perception of the hid- 
den motives of action, — that he did not 
sometimes detect, where others might have 
been blind, the under-shuffling of the hands, 
in the bye-play of the world. 

Through all his writings, and throughout 
his correspondence, there are beautiful 
proofs of the tenderness of his feelings, — 
the most essential quality, perhaps, in any 
writer. It is, at least, one that, if not pos- 
sessed, can never be attained. The familiar- 
ity of his imagination with natural objects, 
when he was living far removed from them, 
is remarkable, and often affecting. 

"I have arranged," he says to Mr. Henin, 
his friend and patron, "very interesting 
materials, but it is only with the light of 
heaven over me that I can recover my 
strength. Obtain for me a rabbit s hole, in 



30 MEMOIR OF ST. PIERRE. 

which I may pass the summer in the coun- 
try." And again, " With the first violet, I 
shall come to see you." It is soothing to 
find, in passages like these, such pleasing 
and convincing evidence that 



" Nature never did betray 

The heart that loved her." 

In the noise of a great city, in the midst 
of annoyances of many kinds, these images, 
impressed with quietness and beauty, came 
back to the mind of St. Pierre, to cheer and 
animate him. 

In alluding to his miseries, it is but fair to 
quote a passage from his "Voyage," which 
reveals his fond remembrance of his native 
land. "I should ever prefer my own coun- 
try to every other," he says, " not because 
it was more beautiful, but because I was 
brought up in it. Happy he, who sees again 
the places where all was loved, and all was 
lovely! — the meadows in which he played, 
and the orchard that he robbed ! " 



MEMOIR OF ST. PIERRE. 31 

He returned to this country, so fondly- 
loved and deeply cherished in absence, to 
experience only trouble and difficulty. Away 
from it, he had yearned to behold it. He 
returned to feel as if neglected by it, and all 
his rapturous emotions were changed to 
bitterness and gall. His hopes had proved 
delusions — his expectations mockeries. Who 
but must look with charity and mercy on all 
discontent and irritation consequent on such 
a depth of disappointment : on what must 
have then appeared to him such unmitigable 
woe. Under the influence of these saddened 
feelings, his thoughts flew back to the island 
he had left, to place all beauty, as well as all 
happiness there ! 

One great proof that he did beautify the 
distant, may be found in the contrast of some 



of the descriptions in the "Voyage a Tile de 
France/' and those in "Paul and Virginia." 
That spot which, when peopled by the cher- 
ished creatures of his imagination, he de- 



32 MEMOIR OF ST. PIERRE. 

scribed as an enchanting and db 
Eden, he had previously spoken of as a 
"rugged country, covered with rocks." — "a 
land of Cyclops blackened by fire." Truth, 
probably lies between the two representa- 
tions: the sadness of exile having darkened 
the one, and the exuberance of his imagina- 
tion embellished the other. 

St, Pierre's merit as an anther has been 
too long and too universally acknowledged, 
to make it needful that it should be dwelt on 
here. A careful review of the circumstances 
of his life induces the belief, that his writings 
grew (if it mav be permitted so to speak :u: 
of his life. In his most imaginative pas- 
sages, to whatever height his fancy soared, 
the starting point seems ever from a fact. 
The past appears to have been always spread 
out before him when he wrote, like a beauti- 
ful landscape, on which his eye rested with 
complacency, and from which his mind trans- 
terred and idealized some objects, without a 



MEMOIR OF ST. PIERRE, 33 

servile imitation of any. When at Berlin, 
he had had it in his power to marry Virginia 
Tanbenheim ; and in Russia, Mile, de la 
Tour, the niece of General Dubosquet, would 
have accepted his hand. He w r as too poor to 
marry either. A grateful recollection caused 
him to bestow the names of the two on his 
most beloved creation. Paul was the name 
of a friar, with whom he had associated in 
his childhood, and whose life he wished to 
imitate. Little did the owners of these 
names anticipate that they were to become 
the baptismal appellations of half a genera- 
tion in France. 

It was St. Pierre who first discovered the 
poverty of language with regard to pictur- 
esque descriptions. In his earliest work, the 
often-quoted "Voyage," he complains, that 
the terms for describing nature are not yet 
invented. " Endeavor," he says, "to de- 
scribe a mountain in such a manner that 

it may be recognized. When you have 
3 



34 f MEMOIR OF ST. PIERRE. 

spoken of its base, its sices, its summit, 

you will have said all! But what 

there is to be found in those swelling, 

lengthened, flattened, or caver::: us forms ! 
It is only by periphrasis that ah this can be 
expressed. The same difficulty exists for 
plains and valleys. But, if you have a pal- 
ace to describe, there is no longer any dim- 
culty. Every moulding has its appropriate 
name." 

It was St. Pierre's glory, in some degree, 
to triumph over this dearth of_ > e£f. 
Few authors ever introduced more new 
terms into descriptive writing: yet are his 
innovations ever chastened, and in g::d 
taste. Kis style, in its elegant simplicity, 
is, indeed, perfection. It is at once sonorous 
and sweet, and always in harmony with the 
sentiment he would express, cr the subject 
he would discuss. Chenier might well arm 
himself with " Paul and Virginia," ana the 
" Chaumiere Indienne," in opposition to 



MEMOIR OF ST. PIERRE. 35 

those writers, who, as he said, made prose 
unnatural, by seeking to elevate it into verse. 
In "Paul and Virginia," he was supremely 
fortunate in his subject. It was an entirely 
new creation, uninspired by any previous 
work ; but which gave birth to many others, 
having furnished the plot to six theatrical 
pieces. It was a subject to which the author 
could bring all his excellences as a writer 
and a man: while his deficiencies and defects 
were necessarily excluded. In no manner 
could he incorporate politics, science, or mis- 
apprehension of persons, while his sensibil- 
ity, morals, and wonderful talent for descrip- 
tion, were in perfect accordance with, and 
ornaments to it. Lemontey and Sainte-Beuve 
both consider success to have been insepara 
ble from the happy selection of a story so 
entirely in harmony with the character of 
the author ; and that the most successful 
writers might envy him so fortunate a 
choice. Buonaparte was in the habit of 



36 MEMOIR OF ST. PIERRE. 

saying, whenever he saw St. Pierre, "M. 
Bernardin, when do you mean to give us 
more Pauls and Virginias, and Indian Cot- 
tages ? You ought to give us some every 
six months." S. J. 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 



QITUATE on the eastern side of the 
mountain which rises above Port Louis, 
in the Mauritius, upon a piece of land bear- 
ing the marks of former cultivation, are 
seen the ruins of two small cottages. These 
ruins are not far from the centre of a valley, 
formed by immense rocks, and which opens 
only towards the north. On the left rises 
the mountain called the Height of Discovery, 
whence the eye marks the distant sail when 
it first touches the verge of the horizon, and 
whence the signal is given when a vessel 
approaches the island. At the foot of this 
mountain stands the town of Port Louis. On 
the right is formed the road which stretches 
from Port Louis to the Shaddock Grove, 



38 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 

where the church bearing that name lifts its 
head, surrounded by its avenues of bamboo, 
in the middle of a spacious plain ; and the 
prospect terminates in a forest extending to 
the furthest bounds of the island. The front 
view presents the bay, denominated the Bay 
of the Tomb ; a little on the right is seen 
the Cape of Misfortune ; and beyond rolls 
the expanded ocean, on the surface of which 
appear a few uninhabited islands ; and, among 
others, the Point of Endeavor, which resem- 
bles a bastion built upon the flood. 

At the entrance of the valley which pre- 
sents these various objects, the echoes of the 
mountain incessantly repeat the hollow mur- 
murs of the winds that shake the neighbor- 
ing forests, and the tumultuous dashing of 
the waves which break at a distance upon 
the cliffs ; but near the ruined cottages all is 
calm and still, and the only objects which 
there meet the eye are rude steep rocks, 
that rise like a surrounding rampart. Large 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 39 

clumps of trees grow at their base, on their 
rifted sides, and even on their majestic tops, 
where the clouds seem to repose. The 
showers, which their bold points attract, 
often paint the vivid colors of the rainbow 
on their green and brown declivities, and 
swell the sources of the little river which 
flow at their feet, called the river of Fan- 
Palms. Within this enclosure reigns the 
most profound silence. The waters, the air, 
all the elements are at peace. Scarcely does 
the echo repeat the whispers of the palm- 
trees, spreading their broad leaves, the long 
points of which are gently agitated by the 
winds. A soft light illumines the bottom of 
this deep valley, on which the sun shines 
only at noon. But, even at break of day, 
the rays of light are thrown on the surround- 
ing rocks; ~and their sharp peaks, rising 
above the shadows of the mountain, appear 
like tints of gold and purple gleaming upon 
the azure sky. 



4 o PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

To this scene I love to resort, as I could 
here enjoy at once the richness of an un- 
bounded landscape, and the charm of unin- 
terrupted solitude. One day, when I was 
seated at the foot of the cottages, and con- 
templating their ruins, a man, advanced in 
years, passed near the spot. He was dressed 
in the ancient garb of the island, his feet 
were bare, and he leaned upon a staff of 
ebony : his hair was white, and the expression 
of his countenance was dignified and inter- 
esting. I bowed to him with respect ; he 
returned the salutation ; and, after looking 
at me with some earnestness, came and 
placed himself upon the hillock on which I 
was seated. Encouraged by this mark of 
confidence, I thus addressed him : " Father, 
can you tell me to whom those cottages once 
belonged?" "My son/' replied the old man, 
'•those heaps of rubbish, and that untilled 
land, were, twenty years ago, the property of 
two families, who .then found happiness in 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 41 

this solitude. Their history is affecting; 
but what European, pursuing his way to the 
Indies, will pause one moment to interest 
himself in the fate of a few obscure individ- 
uals ? What European can picture happi- 
ness to his imagination amidst poverty and 
neglect ? The curiosity of mankind is only 
attracted by the history of the great, and yet 
from that knowledge little use can be de- 
rived. " "Father," I rejoined, "from your 
manner and your observations, I perceive 
that you have acquired much experience of 
human life. If you have leisure, relate to 
me, I beseech you, the history of the ancient 
inhabitants of this desert ; and be assured, 
that even the men who are most perverted 
by the prejudices of the world find a sooth- 
ing pleasure in contemplating that happiness 
which belongs to simplicity and virtue." The 
old man, after a short silence, during which 
he leaned his face upon his hands, as if he 
were trying to recall the images of the past, 
thus began his narration : 



42 PAUL AXD VIRGINIA. 

"Monsieur de la Tour, a young man, who 
was a native of Normandy, after having in 
vain solicited a commission in the French 
army, or some support from his own family, 
at length determined to seek his fortune in 
this island, where he arrived in 1720. He 
brought hither a young woman, whom he 
loved tenderly, and by whom he was no less 
tenderly beloved She belonged to a rich 
and ancient family of the same province; 
but he had married her secretly and without 
fortune, and in opposition to the will of her 
relations, who refused their consent because 
he was found guilty of being descended from 
parents who had no claims to nobility. Mon- 
sieur de la Tour, leaving his wife at Port 
Louis, embarked for Madagascar, in order to 
purchase a few slaves, to assist him in form- 
ing a plantation in this island. He landed 
at Madagascar during that unhealthy season 
which commences about the middle of Octo- 
ber ; and soon after his arrival died of the 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 43 

pestilential fever, which prevails in that 
island six months of the year, and which 
will for ever baffle the attempts of the 
European nations to form establishments on 
that fatal soil. His effects were seized upon 
by the rapacity of strangers, as commonly 
happens to persons dying in foreign parts ; 
and his wife, who was soon to become a 
mother, found herself a widow in a country 
where she had neither credit nor acquaint- 
ance, and no earthly possession, or rather 
support, but one negro woman. Too deli- 
cate to solicit protection or relief from any 
one else after the death of him whom alone 
she loved, misfortune armed her with courage, 
and she resolved to cultivate, with her slave, 
a little spot of ground, and procure for her- 
self the means of subsistence. 

" Desert as was the island, and the ground 
left to the choice of the settler, she avoided 
those spots which were most fertile and 
most favorable to commerce : seeking some 



V- 



44 P^PZ ^AZ? VIRGINIA. 

nook of the mountain, some secret asylum 
where she might live solitary and unknown, 
she bent her way from the town towards 
these rocks, where she might conceal herself 
from observation. All sensitive and suffer- 
ing creatures, from a sort of common in- 
stinct, fly for refuge amidst their pains to 
haunts the most wild and desolate ; as if 
rocks could form a rampart against misfor- 
tune — as if the calm of Nature could hush 
the tumults of the soul. That Providence, 
which lends its support when we ask but 
the supply of our necessary wants, had a 
blessing in reserve for ■Madame de la Tour, 
which neither riches nor greatness can pur- 
chase : — this blessing was a friend. 

"The spot to which Madame de la Tour 
fled had already been inhabited for a year 
by a young woman of a lively, good-natured, 
and affectionate disposition. Margaret (for 
that was her name) was born in Brittany, of 
a family of peasants, by whom she was 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 45 

cherished and beloved, and with whom she 
might have passed through life in- simple 
rustic happiness, if, misled by the weakness 
of a tender heart, she had not listened to 
the passion of a gentleman in the neighbor- 
hood, who promised her marriage. He soon 
abandoned her, and adding inhumanity to 
false promises, refused to insure a provision 
for his child of which she was soon to be the 
mother. Margaret then determined to leave 
for ever her native village, and retire, where 
her fault might be concealed, to some colony 
distant from that country where she had lost 
the only portion of a poor peasant girl — her 
reputation. With some borrowed money she 
purchased an old negro slave, with whom 
she cultivated a little corner of this district. 
" Madame de la Tour, followed by her 
negro woman, came to this spot, where she 
found Margaret engaged in suckling her 
child. Soothed and charmed by the sight 
of a person in a situation somewhat similar 



46 PAUL AXD VIRGIXIA. 

to her own, Madame de la Tour related, in 
a few words, her past condition and her 
present wants. Margaret was deeply affected 
by the recital; and, more anxious to merit 
confidence than to create esteem, she con- 
fessed, without disguise, the errors of which 
she had been guilty. 'As for me,' said she, 
' I deserve my fate : but you Madame — you ! 
at once virtuous and unhappy' — and sob- 
bing, she offered Madame de la Tour both 
her hut and her friendship. That lady, 
affected by this tender reception, pressed 
her in her arms, and exclaimed, — 'Ah! 
surely Heaven has put an end to my mis- 
fortunes, since i: inspires you, to whom I am 
a stranger, with more goodness towards me 
than I have ever experienced from my own 
relations ! " 

"I was acquainted with Margaret; and 
although mv habitation is a league and a 
half from hence, in the woods behind that 
sloping mountain, I considered myself as 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 47 

her neighbor. In the cities of Europe, a 
street, even a simple wall, frequently pre- 
vents members of the same family from 
meeting for years ; but in new colonies we 
consider those persons as neighbors from 
whom we are divided only by woods and 
mountains ; and above all, at that period, 
when this island had little intercourse with 
the Indies, vicinity alone gave a claim to 
friendship, and hospitality toward strangers 
seemed less a duty than a pleasure. No 
sooner was I informed that Margaret had 
found a companion, than I hastened to her, 
in the hope of being useful to my neighbor 
and her guest. I found Madame de la Tour 
possessed of all those melancholy graces 
which, by blending sympathy with admira- 
tion, give to beauty additional power. Her 
countenance was interesting, expressive at 
once of dignity and dejection. She appeared 
to be in the last stage of her pregnancy. 
I told the two friends that, for the future 



r^f* 



4S PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 

interests of their children, and :: prevent 
the intrusion of any other settler, they had 
better divide between them the property of 
this wild, sequestered valley, which is nearly 
twenty acres in extent, They c:r.daed that 
tash to me, and I marhed :v.t twc equal por- 
tions of land One included the higher part 
of this inclosure, from the cloudy pinnacle 
of that rock, whence springs the river of 
Fan-Palms, to that precipitous cleft which 
you see ::: the summit of the mountain, and 
which, from its resemblance in form to the 
battlement of a fortress, is called the Embra- 
sure. It is difficult to find a path along this 
wild portion of the enclosure, the soil of 
w T hich is encumbered with fragments of 
rock, or worn into channels formed by tor- 
rents : yet i: produces nohle trees and in- 
numerable springs and rivulets. Tne ether 
portion of land comprised the plain extend- 
ing along the banks of the river of Fan- 
Palms, to the opening where we are n: v 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 49 

seated, whence the river takes its course 
between those two hills, until it falls into the 
sea. You may still trace the vestiges of 
some meadow land ; and this part of the 
common is less rugged, but not more valu- 
able than the other ; since in the rainy sea- 
son it becomes marshy, and in dry weather is 
so hard and unyielding, that it will almost 
resist the stroke of the pickaxe. When I had 
thus divided the property, I persuaded my 
neighbors to draw lots for their respective 
possessions. The higher portion of the land, 
containing the source of the river of Fan- 
Palms, became the property of Madame de 
la Tour; the lower, comprising the plain on 
the banks of the river, was allotted to 
Margaret ; and each seemed satisfied with 
her share. They entreated me to place their 
habitations together, that they might at all 
times enjoy the soothing intercourse of 
friendship, and the consolation of mutual 
kind offices. Margaret's cottage was situ- 



50 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

ated near the centre of the valley, and just 
on the boundary of her own plantation. 
Close to that spot I built another cottage 
for the residence of Madame de la' Tour ; 
and thus the two friends, while they pos- 
sessed all the advantages of neighborhood, 
lived on their own property. I myself cut 
palisades from the mountain, and brought 
leaves of fan-palms from the sea-shore, in 
order to construct those two cottages, of 
which you can now discern neither the en- 
trance nor the roof. Yet, alas ! there still 
remain but too many traces for my remem- 
brance ! Time, which so rapidly destroys 
the proud monuments of empires, seems in 
this desert to spare those of friendship, as 
if to perpetuate my regrets to the last hour 
of my existence. 

"As soon as the second cottage was 
finished, Madame de la Tour was delivered 
of a girl. I had been the godfather of Mar- 
garet's child, who was christened by the 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 51 

name of Paul. Madame de la Tour desired 
me to perform the same office for her child 
also, together with her friend, who gave her 
the name of Virginia. ■ She will be virtu- 
ous,' cried Margaret, 'and she will be happy. 
I have only known misfortune by wandering 
from virtue/ 

"About the time Madame de la Tour re- 
covered, these two little estates had already 
begun to yield some produce, perhaps in a 
small degree owing to the care which I occa- 
sionally bestowed on their improvement, but 
far more to the indefatigable labors of the 
two slaves. Margaret's slave, who was called 
Domingo, was still healthy and robust, though 
advanced in years : he possessed some knowl- 
edge, and a good natural understanding. He 
cultivated indiscriminately, on both planta- 
tions, the spots of ground that seemed most 
fertile, and sowed whatever grain he thought 
most congenial to each particular soil. Where 
the ground was poor, he strewed maize; where 



52 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

it was most fruitful, he planted wheat; and 
rice in such spots as were marshy. He 
threw the seeds of gourds and cucumbers at 
the foot of the rocks, which they loved to 
climb, and decorate with their luxuriant 
foliage. In dry spots he cultivated the 
sweet potato ; the cotton-tree flourished upon 
the heights, and the sugar-cane grew in the 
clayey soil. He reared some plants of 
coffee on the hills, where the grain, although 
small, is excellent. His plaintain-trees, which 
spread their grateful shade on the banks of 
the river, and encircled the cottages, yielded 
fruit throughout the year. And, lastly, Do- 
mingo, to soothe his cares, cultivated a few 
plants of tobacco. Sometimes he was em- 
ployed in cutting wood for firing from the 
mountain, sometimes in hew T ing pieces of 
rock within the inclosure, in order to level 
the paths. The zeal which inspired him 
enabled him to perform all these labors with 
intelligence and activity. He was much at- 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 53 

tached to Margaret, and not less to Madame 
de la Tour, whose negro woman, Mary, he 
had married on the birth of Virginia; and he 
was passionately fond of his wife. Mary 
was born at Madagascar, and had there ac- 
quired the knowledge of some useful arts. 
She could weave baskets, and a sort of stuff, 
with long grass that grows in the w r oods. 
She was active, cleanly, and, above all, 
faithful. It was her care to prepare their 
meals, to rear the poultry, and go sometimes 
to Port Louis, to sell the superfluous produce 
of these little plantations ; which was not, 
however, very considerable. If you add to 
the personages already mentioned two goats, 
which w r ere brought up with the children, 
and a great dog, which kept watch at night, 
you will have a complete idea of the house- 
hold, as well as of the productions, of these 
two little farms. 

" Madame de la Tour and her friend were 
constantly employed in spinning cotton for 



54 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

the use of their families. Destitute of every 
thing which their own industry could not 
supply, at home they went bare-footed : 
shoes were a convenience reserved for Sun- 
day, on which day, at an early hour, they 
attended mass at the church of the Shaddock 
Grove, which you see yonder. That church 
was more distant from their homes than Port 
Louis ; but they seldom visited the town, lest 
they should be treated with contempt on ac- 
count of their dress ; which consisted simply 
of the coarse blue linen of Bengal, usually 
worn by slaves. But is there, in that exter- 
nal deference which fortune commands, a 
compensation for domestic happiness ? If 
these interesting women had something to 
suffer from the world, their homes on that 
very account became more dear to them. 
No sooner did Mary and Domingo, from this 
elevated spot, perceive their mistresses on 
the road of the Shaddock Grove, than they 
flew to the foot of the mountain in order to 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 55 

help them to ascen.d. They discerned in the 
looks of their domestics the joy which their 
return excited. They found in their retreat 
neatness, independence, all the blessings 
which are the recompense of toil, and they re- 
ceived the zealous services which spring from 
affection. United by the tie of similar wants 
and the sympathy of similar misfortunes, 
they gave each other the tender names of 
companion, friend, sister. They had but one 
will, one interest, one table. All their pos- 
sessions were in common. And if some- 
times a passion more ardent than friendship 
awakened in their hearts the pang of un- 
availing anguish, a pure religion, united 
with chaste manners, drew their affections 
towards another life; as the trembling flame 
rises towards heaven, when it no longer finds 
any aliment on earth. 

" The duties of maternity became a source 
of additional happiness to these affectionate 
mothers, whose mutual friendship gained 



56 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

new strength at the sight of their children, 
equally the offspring of an ill-fated attach- 
ment. They delighted in washing their in- 
fants together in the same bath, in putting 
them to rest in the same cradle, and in 
changing the maternal bosom at which they 
received nourishment. 'My friend/ cried 
Madame de la Tour, 'we shall each of us 
have two children, and each of our children 
will have two mothers/ As two buds which 
remain on different trees of the same kind, 
after the tempest has broken all their 
branches, produce more delicious fruit, if 
each, separated from the maternal stem, be 
grafted on the neighboring tree ; so these 
two infants, deprived of all their other rela- 
tions, when thus exchanged for nourishment 
by those who had given them birth, imbibed 
feelings of affection still more tender than 
those of son and daughter, brother and sis- 
ter. While they were yet in their cradles, 
their mothers talked of their marriage* 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 57 

They soothed their own cares by looking 
forward to the future happiness of their 
children ; but this contemplation often drew 
forth their tears. The misfortunes of one 
mother had arisen from having neglected 
marriage ; those of the other from having 
submitted to its laws : one had suffered by 
aiming to rise above her condition, the other 
by descending from her rank. But they 
found consolation in reflecting that their 
more fortunate children, far from the cruel 
prejudices of Europe, would enjoy at once 
the pleasures of love and the blessings of 
equality. 

" Rarely, indeed, has such an attachment 
been seen as that which the two children 
already testified for each other. If Paul 
complained of anything, his mother pointed 
to Virginia ; at her sight he smiled, and was 
appeased. If any accident befel Virginia, 
the cries of Paul gave notice of the disaster ; 
but the dear little creature would suppress 



5S PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

her complaints if she found that he was 
unhappy. When I came hither, I usually 
found them quite naked, as is the custom of 
the country, tottering in their walk, and hold- 
ing each other by the hands and under the 
arms, as we see represented the constellation 
of the Twins. At night these infants often 
refused to be separated, and were found lying 
in the same cradle, their cheeks, their bosoms 
pressed close together, their hands thrown 
round each other's neck, and sleeping, locked 
in one another's arms. 

" When they began to speak, the first 
names they learned to give each other were 
those of brother and sister, and childhood 
knows no softer appellation. Their educa- 
tion, by directing them ever to consider each 
other's wants, tended greatly to increase 
their affection. In a short time, all the 
household economy, the care of preparing 
their rural repasts, became the task of Vir- 
ginia, whose labors were always crowned with 




' Both were laughing heartily, sheltered under an umbrella of their 
own invention." — Page 59. 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 59 

the praises and kisses of her brother. As for 
Paul, always in motion, he dug the garden 
with Domingo, or followed him with a little 
hatchet into the woods; and if, in his ram- 
bles, he espied a beautiful flower, any deli- 
cious fruit, or a nest of birds, even at the top 
of a tree, he would climb up, and bring the 
spoil to his sister. When you met one of 
these children, you might be sure the other 
was not far off. 

" One day, as I was coming down that 
mountain, I saw Virginia at the end of the 
garden, running towards the house, with her 
petticoat thrown over her head, in order to 
screen herself from a shower of rain. At a 
distance, I thought she was alone; but as I 
hastened towards her in order to help her on, 
I perceived that she held Paul by the arm, 
almost entirely enveloped in the same canopy, 
and both were laughing heartily at their being 
sheltered together under an umbrella of their 
own invention. Those two charming faces, 



60 PAUL AXD VIRGIXIA. 

in the middle of the swelling petticoat, re- 
called to my mind the children of Leda, 
inclosed in the same shelL 

"Their sole study was how thev could 
please and assist one another; for of all 
ether things they were ignorant, and indeed 
could neither read nor write. Thev were 
never disturbed by inquiries about past 
times, nor did their curiosity extend beyond 
the bounds of their mountain. The'.' be- 
lieved the world ended at the shores of their 
own island, and all their ideas and all their 
affections were confined within its limits. 
Their mutual tenderness, and that cf their 
mothers, employed all the energies cf their 
minds. Their tears had never been called 
forth by tedious application to useless sci- 
ences. Their minds had never been wearied 
by lessens cf morality, superfluous to bosoms 
unconscious of ill. The}* had never been 
taught not to steal, because everything with 
them was in common; or not to be intempe- 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 61 

rate, because their simple food was left to 
their own discretion ; or not to lie, because 
they had nothing to conceal. Their young 
imaginations had never been terrified by the 
idea that God has punishments in store for 
ungrateful children, since, with them, filial 
affection arose naturally from maternal ten- 
derness. All they had been taught of religion 
was to love it; and if they did not offer up 
long prayers in the church, wherever they 
were, — in the house, in the fields, in the 
woods, they raised towards heaven their in- 
nocent hands, and hearts purified by virtuous 
affections. 

"All their early childhood passed thus, 
like a beautiful dawn, the prelude of a bright 
day. Already they assisted their mothers in 
the duties of the household. As soon as the 
crowing of the wakeful cock announced the 
first beam of the morning, Virginia arose, 
and hastened to draw water from a neighbor- 
ing spring : then returning to the house, she 



62 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

prepared the breakfast. When the rising 
sun gilded the points of the rocks which 
overhang the inclosure in which they lived, 
Margaret and her child repaired to the dwell- 
ing of Madame de la Tour, where they offered 
up their morning prayer together. This sac- 
rifice of thanksgiving always preceded their 
first repast, which they often took before the 
door of the cottage, seated upon the grass, 
under a canopy of plantain : and while the 
branches of that delicious tree afforded a 
grateful shade, its fruit furnished a substan- 
tial food ready prepared for them by nature, 
and its long glossy leaves, spread upon the 
table, supplied the place of linen. Plenti- 
ful and wholesome nourishment gave early 
growth and vigor to the persons of these 
children, and their countenances expressed 
the purity and the peace of their souls. At 
twelve years of age the figure of Virginia 
was in some degree formed : a profusion of 
light hair shaded her face, to which her blue 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 63 

eyes and coral lips gave the most charming 
brilliancy. Her eyes sparkled with vivacity 
when she spoke ; but when she was silent 
they were habitually turned upwards, with an 
expression of extreme sensibility, or rather 
of tender melancholy. The figure of Paul 
began already to display the graces of youth- 
ful beauty. He was taller than Virginia : his 
skin was of a darker tint ; his nose more 
aquiline ; and his black eyes would have 
been too piercing, if the long eyelashes, by 
which they were shaded had not imparted to 
them an expression of softness. He was 
constantly in motion, except when his sister 
appeared, and then, seated by her side, he 
became still. Their meals often passed with- 
out a word being spoken ; and from their 
silence, the simple elegance of their atti- 
tudes, and the beauty of their naked feet, 
you might have fancied you beheld an an- 
tique group of white marble, representing 
some of the children of Niobe, but for the 



64 PAUL AND VIRGIXIA. 

glances of their eyes, which were constantly 
seeking to meet, and their mutual soft and 
tender smiles, w T hich suggested rather the 
idea of happy celestial spirits, whose nature 
is love, and who are not obliged to have 
recourse to words for the expression of their 
feelings. 

" In the meantime Madame de la Tour, 
perceiving every day some unfolding grace, 
some new beauty, in her daughter, felt her 
maternal anxiety increase with her tender- 
ness. She often said to me, 'if I were to 
die, what will become of Virginia without 
fortune ? ' 

" Madame de la Tour had an aunt in 
France, who was a woman of quality, rich, 
old, and a complete devotee. She had be- 
haved with so much cruelty towards her 
niece upon her marriage, that Madame de la 
Tour had determined no extremitv of dis- 
tress should ever compel her to have re- 
course to her hard-hearted relation. But 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 65 

when she became a mother, the pride of 
resentment was overcome by the stronger 
feelings of maternal tenderness. She wrote 
to her aunt, informing her of the sudden death 
of her husband, the birth of her daughter, and 
the difficulties in which she was involved, 
burthened as she was with an infant, and 
without means of support. She received no 
answer ; but, notwithstanding the high spirit 
natural to her character, she no longer feared 
exposing herself to mortification ; and, 
although she knew her aunt would never 
pardon her for having married a man who 
was not of noble birth, however estimable, 
she continued to write to her, with the hope 
of awakening her compassion for Virginia. 
Many years, however, passed, without receiv- 
ing any token of her remembrance. 
• " At length, in 1738, three years after the 
arrival of Monsieur de la Bourdonnais in 
this island, Madame de la Tour was informed 
that the governor had a letter to give her 



66 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

from her aunt. She flew to Port Louis : 
maternal joy raised her mind above all 
trifling considerations, and she was careless 
on this occasion of appearing in her homely 
attire. Monsieur de la Bourdonnais gave 
her a letter from her aunt, in which she in- 
formed her, that she deserved her fate for 
marrying an adventurer and a libertine : that 
the passions brought with them their own 
punishment ; that the premature death of 
her husband was a just visitation from 
Heaven : that she had done well in going 
to a distant island, rather than dishonor her 
family by remaining in France; and that, 
after all, in the colony where she had taken 
refuge, none but the idle failed to grow rich. 
Having thus censured her niece, she con- 
cluded by eulogising herself. To avoid, she 
said, the almost inevitable evils of marriage, 
she had determined to remain single. In 
fact, as she was of a very ambitious disposi- 
tion, she had resolved to marry none but a 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 67 

man of high rank ; but although she was 
very rich, her fortune was not found a suf- 
ficient bribe, even at court, to counterbalance 
the malignant dispositions of her mind, and 
the disagreeable qualities of her person. 

"After mature deliberation, she added, in 
a postscript, that she had strongly recom- 
mended her niece to Monsieur de la Bour- 
donnais. This she had indeed done, but in 
a manner of late too common, which renders 
a patron perhaps even more to be feared 
than a declared enemy : for, in order to 
justify herself for her harshness, she had 
cruelly slandered her niece, while she affected 
to pity her misfortunes. 

" Madame de la Tour whom no unpreju- 
diced person could have seen without feel- 
ings of sympathy and respect, was received 
with the utmost coolness by Monsieur de la 
Bourdonnais, biassed as he was against her. 
When she painted to him her own situation, 
and that of her child, he replied in abrupt 



68 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

sentences, — ' We will see what can be done 
— there are so many to relieve — all in good 
time — why did you displease your aunt ? — 
you have been much to blame/ 

" Madame de la Tour returned to her cot- 
tage, her heart torn with grief, and filled 
with all the bitterness of disappointment. 
When she arrived, she threw her aunt's let- 
ter on the table, and exclaimed to her friend, 
— ' There is the fruit of eleven years of 
patient expectation ! ' Madame de la Tour 
being the only person in the little circle 
who could read, she again took up the letter 
and read it aloud. Scarcely had she finished, 
when Margaret exclaimed, 'What have we to 
do with your relations ! Has God then for- 
saken us ? He only is our father ? Have 
we not hitherto been happy ? Why then 
this regret ? You have no courage/ Seeing 
Madame de la Tour in tears, she threw her- 
self upon her neck, and pressing her in her 
arms, — ' My dear friend ' cried she, ' my dear 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 69 

friend ! ' — but her emotion choked her utter- 
ance. At this sight Virginia burst into 
tears, and pressed her mother's and Marga- 
ret's hands alternately to her lips and heart ; 
while Paul, his eyes inflamed with anger, 
cried, clasped his hands together, and 
stamped with his foot, not knowing whom 
to blame for this scene of misery. The 
noise soon brought Domingo and Mary to 
the spot, and the little habitation resounded 
with cries of distress, — ' Ah, Madame ! — My 
good mistress ! — My dear mother ! — Do not 
weep ! ' These tender proofs of affection 
at length dispelled the grief of Madame de 
la Tour. She took Paul and Virginia in her 
arms, and embracing them, said, — 'You are 
the cause of my affliction, my children, but 
you are also my only source of delight! 
Yes, my dear children, misfortune has 
reached me, but only from a distance : here, 
I am surrounded with happiness/ Paul and 
Virginia did not understand this reflection : 



yo PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

but, when they saw that she was calm, they 
smiled, and continued to caress her. Tran- 
quillity was thus restored in this happy 
family, and all that had passed was but as 
a storm in the midst of fine weather, which 
disturbs the serenity of the atmosphere but 
for a short time, and then passes away. 

"The amiable disposition of these children 
unfolded itself daily. One Sunday, at day- 
break, their mothers having gone to mass at 
the church of the Shaddock Grove, the chil- 
dren perceived a negro-woman beneath the 
plantains which surrounded their habitation. 
She appeared almost wasted to a skeleton, 
and had no other garment than a piece of 
coarse cloth thrown around her. She threw 
herself at the feet of Virginia, who was pre- 
paring the family breakfast, and said, — 'My 
good young lady, have pity on a poor run- 
away slave. For a whole month I have wan- 
dered among these mountains, half-dead with 
hunger, and often pursued by the hunters 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 71 

and their dogs. I fled from my master, a rich 
planter of the Black River, who has used me 
as you see ; ' and she showed her body 
marked with scars from the lashes she had 
received. She added, — ' I was going to 
drown myself ; but hearing you lived here, 

I said to myself, Since there are still some 
good white people in this country, I need not 
die yet.' Virginia answered with emotion, — 
'Take courage, unfortunate creature! here 
is something to eat ; ' and she gave her the 
breakfast she had been preparing, which the 
slave in a few minutes devoured. When 
her hunger was appeased, Virginia said to 
her, — ' Poor woman ! I should like to go and 
ask forgiveness for you of your master. 
Surely the sight of you will touch him with 
pity. Will you show me the way ? ' — ' Angel 
of heaven ! ' answered the poor negro-woman, 

I I will follow where you please/ Virginia 
called her brother, and begged him to ac- 
company her. The slave led the way, by 



72 PAUL AA'D VIRGINIA. 

winding and difficult paths through the 
woods, over mountains, which they climbed 
with difficulty, and across rivers, through 
which they were obliged to wade. At length, 
about the middle of the day, they reached 
the foot of a steep descent upon the borders 
of the Black River. There they perceived a 
well-built house, surrounded by extensive 
plantations, and a number of slaves em- 
ployed in their various labors. Their mas- 
ter was walking among them with a pipe in 
his mouth, and a switch in his hand. He 
was a tall thin man, of a brown complexion; 
his eyes were sunk in his head, and his dark 
eye-brows were joined in one. Virginia, 
holding Paul by the hand, drew near, and 
with much emotion begged him, for the love 
of God, to pardon his poor slave, who stood 
trembling a few paces behind. The planter 
at first paid little attention to the children, 
who, he saw, were meanly dressed. But when 
he observed the elegance of Virginia's form, 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 73 

and the profusion of her beautiful light 
tresses, which had escaped from beneath her 
blue cap ; when he heard the soft tone of 
her voice, which trembled, as well as her 
whole frame, while she implored his compas- 
sion ; he took the pipe from his mouth, and 
lifting up his stick, swore, with a terrible 
oath, that he pardoned his slave, not for the 
love of Heaven, but of her who asked his 
forgiveness. Virginia made a sign to the 
slave to approach her master; and instantly 
sprang away, followed by Paul. 

" They climbed up the steep they had de- 
scended ; and, having gained the summit 
seated themselves at the foot of a tree, over- 
come with fatigue, hunger, and thirst. They 
had left their home fasting, and had walked 
five leagues since sunrise. Paul said to Vir- 
ginia, 'My dear sister, it is past noon, and I 
am sure you are thirsty and hungry: we 
shall find no dinner here ; let us go down 
the mountain again, and ask the master of 



74 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 

the poor slave for some food.' ' Oh, no/ 
answered Virginia, 'he frightens me too 
much. Remember what Mamma sometimes 
says, "The bread of the wicked is like stones 
in the mouth. " ' ' What shall we do then ? ' 
said Paul ; ' these trees produce no fruit fit 
to eat ; and I shall not be able to find even a 
tamarind or a lemon to refresh you.' * God 
will take care of us/ replied Virginia; 'he 
listens to the cry even of the little birds 
when they ask him for food/ Scarcely had 
she pronounced these words when they heard 
the noise of water falling from a neighboring 
rock. They ran thither, and, having quenched 
their thirst at this crystal spring, they gath- 
ered and ate a few cresses which grew on the 
border of the stream. Soon afterwards, while 
they were wandering backwards and forwards 
in search of more solid nourishment, Virginia 
perceived, in the thickest part of the forest, 
a young palm-tree. The kind of cabbage 
which is found at the top of the palm, en- 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 75 

folded within its leaves, is well adapted for 
food ; but, although the stalk of the tree is 
not thicker than a man's leg, it grows to 
above sixty feet in height. The wood of the 
tree, indeed, is composed only of very fine 
filaments ; but the bark is so hard that it 
turns the edge of the hatchet, and Paul was 
not furnished even with a knife. At length 
he thought of setting fire to the palm-tree ; 
but a new difficulty occurred : he had no 
steel with which to strike fire; and, although 
the whole island is covered with rocks, I do 
not believe it is possible to find a single flint. 
Necessity, however, is fertile in expedients, 
and the most useful inventions have arisen 
from men placed in the most destitute situa 
tions. Paul determined to kindle a fire in 
the manner of the negroes. With the sharp 
end of a stone he made a small hole in the 
branch of a tree that was quite dry, and 
which he held between his feet : he then 
with the edge of the same stone, brought to 



76 PAUL AXD VIRGINIA. 

a point another dry branch of a different 
sort of wood, and afterwards, placing the 
piece of pointed wood in the small hole of 
the branch which he held with his feet, and 
turning it rapidly between his hands, in a 
few minutes smoke and sparks of fire issued 
from the point of contact. Paul then heaped 
together dried grass and branches, and set 
fire to the foot of the palm-tree, which soon 
fell to the ground with a tremendous crash. 
The fire was further useful to him in strip- 
ping off the long, thick, and pointed leaves, 
within which the cabbage was inclosed. 
Having thus succeeded in obtaining this 
fruit, they ate part of it raw, and part 
dressed upon the ashes, which they found 
equally palatable. They made this frugal 
repast with delight, from the remembrance 
of the benevolent action they had performed 
in the morning: yet their joy was embittered 
by the thoughts of the uneasiness which 
their long absence from home would occasion 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 77 

their mothers. Virginia often recurred to this 
subject: but Paul, who felt his strength re- 
newed by their meal, assured her, that it 
would not be long before they reached 
home, and, by the assurance of their safety, 
tranquillized the minds of their parents. 

"After dinner they were much embar- 
rassed by the recollection that they had now 
no guide, and that they were ignorant of the 
way. Paul, whose spirit was not subdued 
by difficulties, said to Virginia, — * The sun 
shines full upon our huts at noon : we must 
pass, as we did this morning, over that 
mountain with its three points, which you 
see yonder. Come, let us be moving.' This 
mountain was that of the Three Breasts, so 
called from the form of its three peaks. 
They then descended the steep bank of the 
Black River, on the northern side ; and ar- 
rived, after an hour's walk, on the banks of 
a large river, which stopped their further 
progress. This large portion of the island, 



78 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

covered as it is with forests, is even now so 
little known, that many of its rivers and 
mountains have not yet received a name. 
The stream, on the banks of which Paul and 
Virginia were now standing, rolls foaming 
over a bed of rocks. The noise of the 
water frightened Virginia, and she was afraid 
to wade through the current : Paul therefore 
took her up in his arms, and went thus loaded 
over the slippery rocks, which formed the bed 
of the river, careless of the tumultuous noise 
of its waters. ' Do not be afraid/ cried he 
to Virginia ; ' I feel very strong with you. 
If that planter at the Black River had re- 
fused you the pardon of his slave, I would 
have fought with him.' 'What!' answered 
Virginia, ' with that great wicked man ? To 
what have I exposed you ! Gracious heaven! 
How difficult it is to do good ! and yet it is 
so easy to do wrong.' 

"When Paul had crossed the river, he 
wished to continue the journey carrying his 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 79 

sister ; and he flattered himself that he could 
ascend in that way the mountain of the 
Three Breasts, which was still at the dis- 
tance of half a league ; but his strength 
soon failed, and he was obliged to set down 
his burthen, and to rest himself by her side. 
Virginia then said to him, ' My dear brother, 
the sun is going down ; you have still some 
strength left, but mine has quite failed : do 
leave me here, and return home alone to ease 
the fears of our mothers/ ' Oh, no/ said 
Paul, ' I will not leave you. If night over- 
takes us in this wood, I will light a fire, and 
bring down another palm-tree : you shall eat 
the cabbage, and I will form a covering of 
the leaves to shelter you/ In the meantime, 
Virginia being a little rested, she gathered 
from the trunk of an old tree, which over- 
hung the bank of the river, some long leaves 
of the plant called hart's tongue, which grew 
near its root. - Of these leaves she made a 
sort of buskin, with which she covered her 



80 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

feet, that were bleeding from the sharpness 
of the stony paths ; for, in her eager desire 
to do good, she had forgotten to put on her 
shoes. Feeling her feet cooled by the fresh- 
ness of the leaves, she broke off a branch of 
bamboo, and continued her walk, leaning 
with one hand on the staff, and with the 
other on Paul. 

"They w T alked on in this manner slowly 
through the woods ; but from the height of 
the trees, and the thickness of their foliage, 
they soon lost sight of the mountain of the 
Three Breasts, by which they had hitherto 
directed their course, and also of the sun, 
which was now setting. At length they 
wandered, without perceiving it, from the 
beaten path in which they had hitherto 
walked, and found themselves in a labyrinth 
of trees, underwood and rocks, whence there 
appeared to be no outlet. Paul made Vir- 
ginia sit down, while he ran backwards and 
forwards, half frantic, in search of a path 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 8 1 

which might lead them out of this thick 
wood ; but he fatigued himself to no pur- 
pose. He then climbed to the top of a lofty 
tree, whence he hoped at least to perceive 
the mountain of the Three Breasts : but he 
could discern nothing around him but the 
tops of trees, some of which were gilded 
with the last beams of the setting sun. 
Already the shadows of the mountains were 
spreading over the forests in the valleys. 
The wind lulled, as is usually the case at 
sunset. The most profound silence reigned 
in those awful solitudes, which was only in- 
terrupted by the cry of the deer, who came 
to their lairs in that unfrequented spot. Paul, 
in the hope that some hunter would hear his 
voice, called out as loud as he was able, — 
1 Come, come to the help of Virginia/ But 
the echoes of the forest alone answered his 
call, and repeated again and again,- — 'Vir- 
ginia — Virginia.' 

" Paul at length descended from the tree, 



52 PAUL AXD VIRGINIA. 

overcome with fatigue and vexation. He 
looked around in crier to make some ar- 
rangement for passing the night in that 
desert; but he could find neither fountain, 
nor palm-tree, nor even a branch of dry 
wood fit for kindling a fire. He was then 
impressed, by experience, with the sense of 
his own weakness, ana began to weep. Vir- 
ginia said to him, — 'Do not weep, my dear 
brother, or I shall he overwhelmed with 
grief. I am the cause of all your sorrow, 
and of all that our mothers are suffering at 
this moment. I find we ought to do noth- 
ing, not even good, without consulting :vr 
parents. Oh, I have been very imprudent!' 
— and she began to shea tears. 'Let us 
pray to God, my dear brother,' she again 
said, 'and he will hear us." They had 
scarcely finished their prayer, when they 
heard the barking :: a dog: 'It must be 
the dog of some hunter,' said Paul, 'who 
comes here at night, to lie in wait for the 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. S3 

deer/ Soon after, the dog began barking 
again with increased violence. ' Surely/ 
said Virginia, ' it is Fidele, ' our own dog : 
yes, — now I know his bark. Are we then 
so near home ? — at the foot of our own 
mountain ? ' A moment after, Fidele was at 
their feet, barking, howling, moaning, and de- 
vouring them with his caresses. Before they 
could recover from their surprise, they saw 
Domingo running towards them. At the 
sight of the good old negro, who wept for 
joy, they began to weep too, but had not the 
power to utter a syllable. When Domingo 
had recovered himself a little, — ' Oh, my 
dear children/ said he, 'how miserable have 
you made your mothers ! How astonished 
they were when they returned with me from 
mass, on not finding you at home. Mary, 
who was at w T ork at a little distance, could 
not tell us where you were gone. I ran 
backwards and forwards in the plantation, 
not knowing where to look for you. At last 



84 PAUL AXD VIRGINIA. 

I took some of your old clothes, and showing 
them to Fidele, the poor animal, as if he 
understood me, immediately began to scent 
your path; and conducted me, wagging his 
tail all the while, to the Black River. I 
there saw a planter, who told me you had 
brought back a Maroon negro woman, his 
slave, and that he had pardoned her at your 
request. But what a pardon ! he showed 
her to me with her feet chained to a block of 
wood, and an iron collar with three hooks 
fastened round her neck ! After that, 
Fidele, still on the scent, led me up the 
steep bank of the Black River, where he 
again stopped, and barked with all his might. 
This was on the brink of a spring, near 
which was a fallen palm-tree, and a fire, still 
smoking. At last he led me to this very 
spot. We are now at the foot of the moun- 
tain of the Three Breasts, and still four good 
leagues from home. Come, eat and recover 
your strength.' Domingo then presented 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 85 

them with a cake, some fruit, and a large 
gourd, full of a beverage composed of wine, 
water, lemon-juice, sugar and nutmeg 
which their mothers had prepared to invig- 
orate and refresh them. Virginia sighed at 
the recollection of the poor slave, and at the 
uneasiness they had given their mothers. 
She repeated several times — ' Oh, how diffi- 
cult it is to do good ! ' While she and Paul 
were taking refreshment, it being already 
night, Domingo kindled a fire ; and having 
found among the rocks a particular kind of 
twisted wood, called bois de ronde, which 
burns when quite green, and throws out a 
great blaze, he made a torch of it, which he 
lighted. But when they prepared to con- 
tinue their journey, a new difficulty occurred ; 
Paul and Virginia could no longer walk, their 
feet being violently swollen and inflamed 
Domingo knew not what to do ; whether to 
leave them, and go in search of help, or re- 
main and pass the night with them on that 



86 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

spot. ■ There was a time/ said he, ' when I 
could carry you both together in my arms ! 
But now you are grown big, and I am grown 
old.' While he was in this perplexity, a 
troop of Maroon negroes appeared at a short 
distance from them. The chief of the band, 
approaching Paul and Virginia, said to them, 
— * Good little white people, do not be afraid. 
We saw you pass this morning with a negro 
woman of 'the Black River. You went to ask 
pardon for her of her wicked master ; and 
we, in return for this will carry you home 
upon our shoulders/ He then made a sign, 
and four of the strongest negroes immedi- 
ately formed a sort of litter with the branches 
of trees and lianas, and having seated Paul 
and Virginia on it, carried them upon their 
shoulders. Domingo marched in front with 
his lighted torch, and they proceeded amidst 
the rejoicings of the whole troop, who over- 
whelmed them with their benedictions. Vir- 
ginia, affected by this scene, said to Paul, 




"Four of the strongest negroes formed a litter, and carried Paul and 
Virginia upon their shoulders." — Page 86. 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 87 

with emotion, — ' Oh, my dear brother ! God 
never leaves a good action unrewarded.' 

"It was midnight when they arrived at the 
foot of their mountain, on the ridges of which 
several fires were lighted. As soon as they 
began to ascend, they heard voices exclaim- 
ing, * Is it you, my children ? ' They an- 
swered immediately, and the negroes also, 
'Yes, yes, it is/ A moment after they could 
distinguish their mothers and Mary coming 
towards them with lighted sticks in their 
hands. 'Unhappy children/ cried Madame 
de la Tour, 'where have you been? What 
agonies you have made us suffer ! ' ' We 
have been/ said, Virginia, 'to the Black 
River, where we went to ask pardon for a 
poor Maroon slave, to whom I gave our 
breakfast this morning, because she seemed 
dying of hunger; and these Maroon negroes 
have brought us home/ Madame de la Tour 
embraced her daughter, without being able 
to speak ; and Virginia, who felt her face wet 



88 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

with her mother's tears, exclaimed, — ' Now I 
am repaid for all the hardships I have suf- 
fered/ Margaret, in a transport of delight, 
pressed Paul in her arms, exclaiming, — ' And 
you also, my dear child ! you have done a 
good action/ When they reached the cot- 
tages with their children, they entertained 
all the negroes with a plentiful repast, after 
which the latter returned to their woods, 
praying Heaven to shower down every de- 
scription of blessing on those good white 
people. 

" Every day was to these families a day of 
happiness and of tranquillity. Neither ambi- 
tion nor envy disturbed their repose. They 
did not seek to obtain a useless reputation 
out of doors, which may be procured by 
artifice and lost by calumny ; but were con- 
tented to be the sole witnesses and judges of 
their own actions. In this island, where, as 
is the case in most colonies, scandal forms 
the principal topic of conversation, their vir- 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 89 

tues, and even their names, were unknown. 
The passer-by on the road to the Shaddock 
Grove, indeed, would sometimes ask the in- 
habitants of the plain, who lived in the cot- 
tages up there? and was always told, even 
by those who did not know them, 'They are 
good people/ The modest violet thus, con- 
cealed in thorny places, sheds all unseen its 
delightful fragrance around. 

" Slander, which, under an appearance of 
justice, naturally inclines the heart to false- 
hood or to hatred, was entirely banished from 
their conversation : for it is impossible not 
to hate men if we believe them to be wicked, 
or to live with the wicked without concealing 
that hatred under a false pretence of good 
feeling. Slander thus puts us ill at ease 
with others and with ourselves. In this little 
circle, therefore, the conduct of individuals 
was not discussed, but the best manner of 
doing good to all ; and although they had but 
little in their power, their unceasing good- 



9 o PAUL AXD VIRGIXIA. 

will and kindness of heart made them con- 
stantly ready to do what they could for 
others. Solitude, far from having blunted 
these benevolent feelings, had rendered their 
dispositions even more kindly. Although 
the petty scandals of the day furnished no 
subject of conversation to them, yet the con- 
templation of nature filled their minds with 
enthusiastic delight. They adored the bounty 
of that Providence, which, by their instru- 
mentality, had spread abundance and beauty 
amid these barren rocks, and had enabled 
them to enjoy those pure and simple pleas- 
ures, which are ever grateful and ever new. 

" Paul, at twelve years of age, was stronger 
and more intelligent than most European 
3'ouths are at fifteen ; and the plantations, 
which Domingo merely cultivated, were all 
embellished by him. He would go with the 
old negro into the neighboring woods, where 
he would root up the young plants of lemon, 
orange, and tamarind trees, the round heads 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 91 

of which are of so fresh a green, together 
with date-palm trees, which produce fruit 
filled with a sweet cream, possessing the fine 
perfume of the orange flower. These trees, 
which had already attained to a considerable 
size, he planted round their little inclosure. 
He had also sown the seeds of many trees 
which the second year bear flowers or fruit ; 
such as the agathis, encircled with long clus- 
ters of white flowers, which hang from it 
like the crystal pendants of a chandelier; 
the Persian lilac, which lifts high in air its 
grey flax-colored branches ; the pappaw tree, 
the branchless trunk of which forms a column 
studded with green melons, surmounted by a 
capital of broad leaves similar to those of the 
fig tree. 

"The seeds and kernels of the gum tree, 
terminalia, mango, alligator pear, the guava, 
the bread-fruit tree, and the narrow-leaved 
rose-apple, were also planted by him with 
profusion ; and the greater number of these 



92 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

trees already afforded their young cultivator 
both shade and fruit. His industrious hands 
diffused the riches of nature over even the 
most barren parts of the plantation. Sev- 
eral species of aloes, the Indian fig, adorned 
with yellow flowers spotted with red, and the 
thorny torch-thistle, grew upon the dark 
summits of the rocks, and seemed to aim 
at reaching the long lianas, which, laden 
with blue or scarlet flowers, hung scattered 
over the steepest parts of the mountain. 

" I loved to trace the ingenuity he had 
exercised in the arrangement of these trees. 
He had so disposed them that the whole 
could be seen at a single glance. In the 
middle of the hollow he had planted shrubs 
of the lowest growth ; behind grew the 
more lofty sorts ; then trees of the ordinary 
height ; and beyond and above all, the vene- 
rable and lofty groves which border the cir- 
cumference. Thus this extensive inclosure 
appeared, from its centre, like a verdant 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 93 

amphitheatre decorated with fruits and flow- 
ers, containing a variety of vegetables, some 
strips of meadow land, and fields of rice and 
corn: But, in arranging these vegetable pro- 
ductions to his own taste, he wandered not 
too far from the designs of Nature. Guided 
by her suggestions, he had thrown upon the 
elevated spots such seeds as the winds would 
scatter about, and near the borders of the 
springs those which float upon the water. 
Every plant thus grew in its proper soil, and 
every spot seemed decorated by Nature's own 
hand. The streams which fell from the sum- 
mits of the rocks formed in some parts of 
the valley sparkling cascades, and in others 
were spread into broad mirrors, in which 
were reflected, set in verdure, the flowering 
trees, the overhanging rocks, and the azure 
heavens. 

" Notwithstanding the great irregularity of 
the ground, these plantations were, for the 
most part, easy of access. We had, indeed,, 



94 PAUL AXD VIRGINIA. 

all riven him our advice and assistance, in 
order to accomplish this end. He had con- 
ducted one path entirely round the valley,* 
and various branches from it led from the 
circumference to the centre. He had drawn 
some advantage from the most rugged spots, 
and had blended, in harmonious union, level 
walks with the inequalities of the soil, and 
trees which grow wild with the cultivated 
varieties. With that immense quantity of 
large pebbles which now block up these 
paths, and which are scattered over most of 
the ground of this island, he formed pyra- 
midal heaps here and there, at the base of 
which he laid mould, and planted rose- 
bushes, the Barbadoes flower-fence, and 
other shrubs which love to climb the rocks. 
In a short time the dark and shapeless heaps 
of stones he had constructed were covered 
with verdure, or with the glowing tints of 
the most beautiful flowers. Hollow recesses 
on the borders of the streams, shaded by the 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 95 

overhanging boughs of aged trees, formed 
rural grottoes, impervious to the rays of the 
sun, in which you might enjoy a refreshing 
coolness during the mid-day heats. One 
path led to a clump of forest trees, in the 
centre of which, sheltered from 'the wind, 
you found a fruit-tree laden with produce. 
Here was a cornfield ; there, an orchard : 
from one avenue you had a view of the cot- 
tages ; from another, of the inaccessible sum- 
mit of the mountain. Beneath one tufted 
bower of gum-trees, interwoven w T ith lianas, 
no object whatever could be perceived : 
while the point of the adjoining rock, jutting 
out from the mountain, commanded a view 
of the whole inclosure, and of the distant 
ocean, where, occasionally, we could discern 
the distant sail, arriving from Europe, or 
bound thither. On this rock the two fami- 
lies frequently met in the evening, and 
enjoyed in silence the freshness of the 
flowers, the^ gentle murmurs of the fountains, 



c5 payl a::d wwwvwu 

and the last blended harmonies of light : 

shade. 

"Nothing could be more charming than 
the names which were bestcwed upon sure 
of the delightful retreats of the labyrinth. 
The rock of which I have been speaking, 
whence they could discern my approach at a 
considerable distance, was called the Dis- 
covery of Friendship. Paul and Virginia 
had amused themselves by planting a ham- 
boo on that spot; anil whenever they saw 
me coming, the hoisted a little white hand- 
kerchief, by way of signal of my approach, 
as they had see: a nag hoisted on the neigh- 
boring mountain on the sight of a vessel :.: 
sea. The idea struck me of euvravinr, an 
inscription on the stalk of this reed; for I 
never, in the course of my travels, experi- 
enced anything like the pleasure in seeing a 
statue or ether menument of ancient art. as 
in reading a well-written inscription. It 
seems to me as i: a human voice 






PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 97 

from the stone, and, making itself heard 
after the lapse of ages, addressed man in the 
midst of a desert, to tell him that he is not 
alone, and that other men, on that very spot, 
had felt, and thought, and suffered like him- 
self. If the inscription belongs to an ancient 
nation, which no longer exists, it leads the 
soul through infinite space, and strengthens 
the consciousness of its immortality, by dem- 
onstrating that a thought has survived the 
ruins of an empire. 

" I inscribed then, on the little staff of 
Paul and Virginia's flag, the following lines 
of Horace : — 

' Fratres Helenas lucida sidera, 

Ventorumque regal pater, 
Obstrictis aliis, praeter japyga.' 

* May the brothers of Helen, bright stars like you, and 
the Father of the winds, guide you, and may you feel only 
the breath of the zephyr.' 

" There was a gum-tree, under the shade of 

which Paul was accustomed to sit, to contem- 
7 



93 PAUL AXD VIRGINIA. 

plate the sea when agitated by storms. On 
the bark of this tree, I engraved the follow- 
ing line from Virgil :— 

1 Fortunatus et ille deos qui novit agrestes.' 

1 Happy art thou, my son, in knowing only the pastoral 

divinities.' 

"And over the door of Madame de la 
Tour's cottage, where the families so fre- 
quently met, I placed this line : — 

1 At secura quies, et nescia fallere vita.' 

1 Here dwell a calm conscience, and a life that knows 
not deceit.' 

" But Virginia did not approve of my 
Latin : she said, that what I had placed at 
the foot of her flag-staff was too long and 
too learned. ' I should have liked better/ 
added she, ' to have seen inscribed, ever agi- 
tated, yet constant.' — ' Such a motto/ I 
answered, 'would have been still more appli- 
cable to virtue.' My reflection made her 
blush. 



PAUL AXD VIRGINIA. 99 

" The delicacy of sentiment of these 
happy families was manifested in everything 
around them. They gave the tenderest 
names to objects in appearance the most 
indifferent. A border of orange, plantain, 
and rose-apple trees, planted round a green 
sward where Virginia and Paul sometimes 
danced, received the name of Concord. An 
old tree, beneath the shade of which Mad- 
ame de la Tour and Margaret used to recount 
their misfortunes, was called The Burial- 
place of Tears. They bestowed the names of 
Britany and Normandy on two little plots of 
ground, where they had sown corn, straw- 
berries, and peas. Domingo and Mary, wish- 
ing, in imitation of their mistresses, to recall 
to mind Angola and Foullepointe, the places 
of their birth in Africa, gave those names to 
the little fields where the grass was sown 
with which they wove their baskets, and 
where they had planted a calabash-tree. 
Thus, by cultivating the productions of their 



ioo PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

respective climates, these exiled families 
cherished the dear illusions which bind us 
to our native country, and softened their 
regrets in a foreign land. Alas ! I have 
seen these trees, these fountains, these heaps 
of stones, which are now so completely over- 
thrown, — which now, like the desolated plains 
of Greece, present nothing but masses of ruin 
and affecting remembrances, all but called 
into life by the many charming appellations 
thus bestowed upon them ! 

" But perhaps the most delightful spot of 
this inclosure was that called Virginia's 
Resting-place. At the foot of the rock 
which bore the name of the Discovery of 
Friendship, is a small crevice, whence issues 
a fountain, forming, near its source, a little 
spot of marshy soil in the middle of a field 
of rich grass. At the time of Paul's birth I 
had made Margaret a present of an Indian 
cocoa which had been given me, and which 
she planted on the border of this fenny 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 101 

ground, in order that the tree might one day 
serve to mark the epoch of her son's birth. 
Madame de la Tour planted another cocoa, 
with the same view, at the birth of Virginia. 
These nuts produced two cocoa-trees, which 
formed the only records of the two families : 
one was called Paul's tree, the other, Vir- 
ginia's. Their growth was in the same pro- 
portion as that of the two young persons, 
not exactly equal ; but they rose, at the end 
of twelve years, above the roofs of the cot- 
tages. Already their tender .stalks were 
interwoven, and clusters of young cocoas 
hung from them over the basin of the foun- 
tain. With the exception of these two trees, 
this nook of the rock was left as it had been 
decorated by nature. On its embrowned and 
moist sides broad plants of maiden-hair glis- 
tened with their green and dark stars ; and 
tufts of wave-leaved hart's tongue, suspended 
like long ribbons of purple green, floated on 
the wind. Near this grew a chain of the 



IC2 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

Madagascar periwinkle, the flowers of which 
resemble the red gilliflower ; and the long- 
podded capsicum, the seed-vessels of which 
are of the color of blood, and more resplen- 
dent than coral. Near them, the herb balm, 
with its heart-shaped leaves, and the sweet 
basil, which has the odor of the clove, ex- 
haled the most delicious perfumes. From 
the precipitous side of the mountain hung 
the graceful lianas, like floating draperies, 
forming magnificent canopies of verdure on 
the face of the rocks. The sea-birds, allured 
by the stillness of these retreats, resorted 
here to pass the night. At the hour of sun- 
set we could perceive the curlew and the 
stint skimming along the sea shore ; the 
frigate-bird poised high in air; and the white 
bird of the tropic, which abandons, with the 
star of day, the solitudes of the Indian ocean. 
Virginia took pleasure in resting herself upon 
the border of this fountain, decorated with 
wild and sublime magnificence. She often 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 103 

went thither to wash the linen of the family 
beneath the shade of the two cocoa-trees, 
and thither too she sometimes led her goats 
to graze. While she was making cheeses of 
their milk, she loved to see them browse on 
the maiden-hair fern which clothed the steep 
sides of the rock, and hung suspended by 
one of its cornices, as on a pedestal. Paul, 
observing that Virginia was fond of this spot, 
brought thither, from the neighboring forest, 
a great variety of birds' nests. The old 
birds, following their young, soon estab- 
lished themselves in this new colony. Vir- 
ginia, at stated times, distributed amongst 
them grains of rice, millet, and maize. As 
soon as she appeared, the whistling black- 
bird, the amadavid bird, whose note is so 
soft, the cardinal, with its flame-colored 
plumage, forsook their bushes ; the parro- 
quet, green as an emerald, descended from 
the neighboring fan-palms ; the partridge ran 
along the grass : all advanced promiscuously 



104 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 

towards her, like a brood of chickens : and 
she and Paul found an exhaustless source of 
amusement in observing their sports, their 
repasts, and their loves. 

" Amiable children ! thus passed your 
earlier days in innocence, and in obeying 
the impulses of kindness. How many times, 
on this very spot, have your mothers, press- 
ing you in their arms, blessed heaven for the 
consolations your unfolding virtues prepared 
for their declining years, while they at the 
same time enjoyed the satisfaction of seeing 
you begin life under the happiest auspices ! 
How many times, beneath the shade of those 
rocks, have I partaken with them of your 
rural repasts, which never cost any animal 
its life ! Gourds full of milk, fresh eggs, 
cakes of rice served up on plantain leaves, 
with baskets of mangoes, oranges, dates, 
pomegranates, pineapples, furnished a whole- 
some repast, the most agreeable to the eye, 
as well as delicious to the taste, that can 
possibly be imagined. 



PAUL AXD VIRGINIA, 105 

" Like the repast, the conversation was 
mild, and free from everything having a ten- 
dency to do harm. Paul often talked of the 
labors of the day and of the morrow. He 
was continually planning something for the 
accommodation of their little society. Here 
he discovered that the paths were rugged ; 
there, that the seats were uncomfortable : 
sometimes the young arbors did not afford 
sufficient shade, and Virginia might be better 
pleased elsewhere. 

" During the rainy season the two families 
met together in the cottage, and employed 
themselves in weaving mats of grass, and 
baskets of bamboo. Rakes, spades, and 
hatchets, were ranged along the walls in the 
most perfect order; and near these instru- 
ments of agriculture were heaped its pro- 
ducts, — bags of rice, sheaves of corn, and 
baskets of plantains. Some degree of luxury 
usually accompanies abundance; andVirgi 
was taught by her mother and Margaret to 



106 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

prepare sherbet and cordials from the juice 
of the sugar-cane, the lemon, and the citron. 
"When night came they all supped to- 
gether by the light of a lamp ; after which 
Madame de la Tour or Margaret related some 
story of travellers benighted in those woods 
of Europe that are still infested by banditti ; 
or told a dismal tale of some shipwrecked 
vessel, thrown by the tempest upon the rocks 
of a desert island. To these recitals the 
children listened with eager attention, and 
earnestly hoped that heaven would one day 
grant them the joy of performing the rites 
of hospitality towards such unfortunate per- 
sons. When the time for repose arrived, the 
two families separated and retired for the 
night, eager to meet again the following 
morning. Sometimes they were lulled to 
repose by the beating of the rains, which 
fell in torrents upon the roofs of their cot- 
tages, and sometimes by the hollow winds, 
which brought to their ear the distant roar of 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 107 

the waves breaking upon the shore. They 
blessed God for their own safety, the feeling 
of which was brought home more forcibly to 
their minds by the sound of remote danger. 

" Madame de la Tour occasionally read 
aloud some affecting history of the Old or 
New Testament. Her auditors reasoned but 
little upon these sacred volumes, for their 
theology centred in a feeling of devotion 
towards the Supreme Being, like that of na- 
ture ; and their morality was an active prin- 
ciple, like that of the Gospel. These families 
had no particular days devoted to pleasure, 
and others to sadness. Every day was to 
them a holyday, and all that surrounded 
them one holy temple, in which they ever 
adored the Infinite Intelligence, the Almighty 
God, the friend of human kind. A feeling 
of confidence in His supreme power filled 
their minds with consolation for the past, 
with fortitude under present trials, and with 
hope in the future. Compelled by misfortune 



108 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

to return almost to a state of nature, these 
excellent women had thus developed in their 
own and their children's bosoms the feelings 
most natural to the human mind, and its best 
support under affliction. 

" But, as clouds sometimes arise, and cast 
a gloom over the best-regulated tempers, so 
whenever any member of this little society 
appeared to be laboring under dejection, the 
rest assembled around, and endeavored to 
banish her painful thoughts by amusing the 
mind rather than by grave arguments against 
them. Each performed this kind office in 
their own appropriate manner : Margaret, by 
her gayety; Madame de la Tour, by the gen- 
tle consolations of religion ; Virginia, by her 
tender caresses ; Paul, by his frank and en- 
gaging cordiality. Even Mary and Domingo 
hastened to offer their succor, and to weep 
with those that wept. Thus do weak plants 
interweave themselves with each other, in 
order to withstand the fury of the tempest. 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 109 

" During the fine season, they went every 
Sunday to the church of the Shaddock Grove, 
the steeple of which you see yonder upon the 
plain. Many wealthy members of the con 
gregation, who came to church in palanquins, 
sought the acquaintance of these united fam- 
ilies, and invited them to parties of pleasure. 
But they always repelled these overtures with 
respectful politeness, as they were persuaded 
that the rich and powerful seek the society 
of persons in an inferior station only for the 
sake of surrounding themselves with flatter- 
ers, and that every flatterer must applaud 
alike all the actions of his patron, whether 
good or bad. On the other hand, they 
avoided, with equal care, too intimate an 
acquaintance with the lower class, who are 
ordinarily jealous, calumniating, and gross. 
They thus acquired, with some, the character 
of being timid, and with others, of pride : 
but their reserve was accompanied with so 
much obliging politeness, above all towards 



no PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

the unfortunate and the unhappy, that they 
insensibly acquired the respect of the rich 
and the confidence of the poor. 

" After service, some kind office was often 
required at their hands by their poor neigh- 
bors. Sometimes a person troubled in mind 
sought their advice ; sometimes a child 
begged them to visit its sick mother, in 
one of the adjoining hamlets. They always 
took with them a few remedies for the ordi- 
nary diseases of the country, which they ad- 
ministered in that soothing manner which 
stamps a value upon the smallest favors. 
Above all, they met with singular success 
in administering to the disorders of the mind, 
so intolerable in solitude, and under the in- 
firmities of a weakened frame. Madame de 
la Tour spoke with such sublime confidence 
of the Divinity, that the sick, while listening 
to her, almost believed him present. Virginia 
often returned home with her eyes full of 
tears, and her heart overflowing with delight, 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. in 

at having had an opportunity of doing good ; 
for to her generally was confided the task of 
preparing and administering the medicines, — 
a task which she fulfilled with angelic sweet- 
ness. After these visits of charity, they 
sometimes extended their walk by the Slop- 
ing Mountain, till they reached my dwelling, 
where I used to prepare dinner for them on 
the banks of the little rivulet which glides 
near my cottage. I procured for these occa- 
sions a few bottles of old wine, in order to 
heighten the relish of our Oriental repast by 
the more genial productions of Europe. At 
other times we met on the sea-shore, at the 
mouth of some little river, or rather mere 
brook. We brought from home the pro- 
visions furnished us by our gardens, to 
which we added those supplied us by the 
sea in abundant variety. We caught on 
these shores the mullet, the roach, and the 
sea-urchin, lobsters, shrimps, crabs, oysters, 
and all other kinds of shell-fish. In this 



112 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

wav, we c::en ewcved the most tranquil 



Sometimes, seated upon a reck under the 
shade of the velvet sun-flower tree, we saw 
the enormous waves of the Indian Ocean 



hr 



:tn a tremencc 



noise. Paul, who :v;l:; 5 win: like a fish, 
would advance on the reefs to wee: the 

selves, with a roaring noise, far on the sands. 
But Virginia, at this sight, uttered piercing 
cries, ana saia tnat ^ucn suurts iri^rntenecl 

f o 

her toe much. 

"Other amusements were not wanting on 
these festive occasions. Our repasts were 
generally followed by the songs and dances 
of the twe young people. Virginia sang the 

those whe were impelled hy avarice t: cross 
the raging ocean, rather then cultivate 



PAUL AXD VIRGIXIA. 113 

the earth, and enjoy its bounties in peace. 
Sometimes she performed a pantomime with 
Paul, after the manner of the negroes. The 
first language of man is pantomime : it 
is known to all nations, and is so natural 
and expressive, that the children of the 
European inhabitants catch it with facil- 
ity from the negroes. Virginia, recalling, 
from among the histories which her mother 
had read to her, those which had affected her 
most, represented the principal events in 
them with beautiful simplicity. Sometimes 
at the sound of Domingo's tamtam she ap- 
peared upon the greensward, bearing a 
pitcher upon her head, and advanced with a 
timid step towards the source of a neighbor- 
ing fountain, to draw water. Domingo and 
Mary, personating the shepherds of Midian, 
forbade her to approach, and repulsed her 
sternly. Upon this Paul flew to her succor, 
beat away the shepherds, filled Virginia's 
pitcher, and placing it upon her head, bound 



1 14 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

her brows at the same time with a wreath of 
the red flowers of the Madagascar periwinkle, 
which served to heighten the delicacy of her 
complexion. Then, joining in their sports, I 
took upon myself the part of Raguel, and 
bestowed upon Paul my daughter Zephora in 
marriage. 

" Another time Virginia would represent 
the unhappy Ruth, returning poor and wid- 
owed with her mother-in-law, who, after so 
prolonged an absence, found herself as un- 
known as in a foreign land. Domingo and 
Mary personated the reapers. The supposed 
daughter of Naomi followed their steps, 
gleaning here and there a few ears of corn. 
When interrogated by Paul, — a part which 
he performed with the gravity of a patriarch, 
— she answered his questions with a falter- 
ing voice. He then, touched with compas- 
sion, granted an asylum to innocence, and 
hospitality to misfortune. He filled her lap 
with plenty ; and, leading her towards us as 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 115 

before the elders of the city, declared his 
purpose to take her in marriage. At this 
scene, Madame de la Tour, recalling the des- 
olate situation in which she had been left by 
her relations, her widowhood, and the kind 
reception she had met with from Margaret, 
succeeded now by the soothing hope of a 
happy union between their children, could 
not forbear weeping ; and these mixed recol- 
lections of good and evil caused us all to 
unite with her in shedding tears of sorrow 
and of joy. 

"These dramas were performed with such 
an air of reality, that you might have fancied 
yourself transported to the plains of Syria 
or of Palestine. We were not unfurnished 
with decorations, lights, or an orchestra, suit- 
able to the representation. The scene was 
generally placed in an open space of the 
forest, the diverging paths from which formed 
around us numerous arcades of foliage, under 
which we were sheltered from the heat all 



n6 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

the middle of the day : but when the sun 
descended towards the horizon, its rays, 
broken by the trunks of the trees, darted 
amongst the shadows of the forest in long 
lines of light, producing the most magnifi- 
cent effect. Sometimes its broad disk ap- 
peared at the end of an avenue, lighting it 
up with insufferable brightness. The foliage 
of the trees, illuminated from beneath by its 
saffron beams, glowed with the lustre of the 
topaz and the emerald. Their brown and 
mossy trunks appeared transformed into col- 
umns of antique bronze; and the birds, 
which had retired in silence to their leafy 
shades to pass the night, surprised to see the 
radiance of a second morning, hailed the 
star of day all together with innumerable 
carols. 

' 'Night often overtook us during these 
rural entertainments ; but the purity of the 
air, and the warmth of the climate, admitted 
of our sleeping in the woods, without incur- 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 117 

ring any danger by exposure to the weather, 
and no less secure from the molestation of 
robbers. On our return the following day to 
our respective habitations, we found them in 
exactly the same state in which they had 
been left. In this island, then unsophisti- 
cated by the pursuits of commerce, such 
were the honesty and primitive manners of 
the population, that the doors of many 
houses were without a key, and even a lock 
itself was an object of curiosity to not a few 
of the native inhabitants. 

" There were, however, some days in the 
year celebrated by Paul and Virginia in a 
more peculiar manner : these were, the birth- 
days of their mothers. Virginia never failed 
the day before to prepare some wheaten 
cakes, which she distributed among a few 
poor white families, born in the island, who 
had never eaten European bread. These un- 
fortunate people, uncared for by the blacks, 
were reduced to live on tapioca in the woods; 



i:S PAl'L AXD VIRGI1 'A 

.and as they had neither the insensibility 
which is the result of slavery, nor the forti- 
tude which springs from a liberal education, 
to enable them to support their poverty, 
their situation was deplorable. These cakes 
were all that Virginia had it in her power to 
giveaway; but she conferred the gift in so 
dedicate a manner as to aac ten::.;, to its 
value. In the first place, Paul was o: in- 
missioned to take the cakes himself to these 
families, and get their primise to ::me and 
spend the next day at Madame de la Tour's. 
Accordingly, mothers cf families, with two :r 
three thin, yellow, miserable-looking daugh- 

made their appearance. Virginia soon put 
them at their ease: she waited upon them 
with refreshments, the excellence of whi :h 
she endeavored to heighten by relating some 
particular circumstance which, in her :wn 
estimation, vastly improved them. Cue 
beverage had bee:: prepared by Mare-are: : 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 119 

another, by her mother : her brother himself 
had climbed some lofty tree for the very 
fruit she was presenting. She would then 
get Paul to dance with them, nor would she 
leave them till she saw that they were happy. 
She wished them to partake of the joy of 
her own family. ' It is only,' she said, ' by 
promoting the happiness of others that we 
can secure our own/ When they left, she 
generally presented them with some little 
article they seemed to fancy, enforcing their 
acceptance of it by some delicate pretext, 
that she might not appear to know they were 
in want. If she remarked that their clothes 
were much tattered, she obtained her mother's 
permission to give them some of her own, 
and then sent Paul to leave them secretly at 
their cottage doors. She thus followed the 
divine precept, — concealing the benefactor, 
and revealing only the benefit. 

"You, Europeans, whose minds are imbued 
from infancy with prejudices at variance with 



120 PAUL AXD VIRGINIA. 

happiness, cannot imagine ail the instruction 
and pleasure to be derived from nature. Your 
souls, confined to a small sphere of intelli- 
gence, soon reach the limit of its artifi- 
cial enjoyments; but nature and the heart 
are inexhaustible. Paul and Virginia had 
neither clock, nor almanac, nor books of 
chronology, history, or philosophy. The 
periods of their lives were regulated by 
those of the operations of nature, and their 
familiar conversation had a constant refer- 
ence to the changes of the seasons. They 
knew the time of day by the shadows of the 
trees; the seasons, by the times when those 
trees bore flowers or fruit ; and the years, by 
the number of their harvests. These seeth- 
ing images diffused an inexpressible charm 
over their conversation. ' It is time to dine/ 
said Virginia, ' the shadows of the plantain- 
trees are at their roots;' or, 'Night ap- 
proaches; the tamarinds are closing their 
leaves.' * When will you come and see us ?' 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 121 

inquired some of her companions in the 
neighborhood. 'At the time of the sugar- 
canes/ answered Virginia. ' Your visit will be 
then still more delightful/ resumed her young 
acquaintances. When she was asked what 
was her own age, and that of Paul, — ' My 
brother/ said she, 'is as old as the great 
cocoa-tree of the fountain ; and I am as old 
as the little one : the mangoes have borne 
fruit twelve times, and the orange-trees have 
flowered four-and-twenty-times, since I came 
into the world/ Their lives seemed linked 
to that of the trees, like those of Fauns or 
Dryads. They knew no other historical 
epochs than those of the lives of their 
mothers, no other chronology than that of 
their orchards, and no other philosophy than 
that of doing good, and resigning themselves 
to the will of Heaven. 

" What need, indeed, had these young 
people of riches or learning such as ours ? 
Even their necessities and their ignorance 



122 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

increased their happiness. No day passed 
in which they were not of some service to 
one another, or in which they did not mu- 
tually impart some instruction. Yes, instruc- 
tion ; for if errors mingled with it, they were, 
at least, not of a dangerous character. A 
pure-minded being has none of that descrip- 
tion to fear. Thus grew these children of 
nature. No care had troubled their peace, 
no intemperance had corrupted their blood, 
no misplaced passion had depraved their 
hearts. Love, innocence, and piety, pos- 
sessed their souls ; and those intellectual 
graces were unfolding daily in their features, 
their attitudes, and their movements. Still 
in the morning of life, they had all its bloom- 
ing freshness ; and surely such in the garden 
of Eden appeared our first parents, when, 
coming from the hands of God, they first 
saw and approached each other, and con- 
versed together, like brother and sister. 
Virginia was gentle, modest, and confiding 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 123 

as Eve ; and Paul, like Adam, united the 
stature of manhood with the simplicity of a 
child. 

" Sometimes, if alone with Virginia, he 
has a thousand times told me, he used to 
say to her, on his return from labor, — ' When 
I am wearied, the sight of you refreshes me. 
If from the summit of the mountain I per- 
ceive you below in the valley, you appear to 
me in the midst of our orchard like a bloom- 
ing rose-bud. If you go towards our mother's 
house, the partridge, when it runs to meet its 
young, has a shape less beautiful, and a step 
less light. When I lose sight of you through 
the trees, I have no need to see you in order 
to find you again. Something of you, I know 
not how, remains for me in the air through 
which you have passed, — on the grass 
whereon you have been seated. When I 
come near you, you delight all my senses. 
The azure of the sky is less charming than 
the blue of your eyes, and the song of the 



124 



SA " 



:.'ja. 



„ c _ *...-> - - 



y:ur voice. I: I :: 
c: my finger, my v 
Dd vou 



we :r:ssed :ver t: 
of the Three B: 



iv ::u:h yon with the tip 

rememoer the aay when 
great st::;es of the river 

:he hank : hut as soon as 



They 

think 



Cur 
Is i1 






River, to ask 



remain at r.ivht 
honey-comb too, \s 



Is it 



oer than you. I 
::iness. I ^:.:. 

Ion for the poor 

eiiveii. take this 

: you will let it 

hei Eat this 
:e taken f:r y:u 
first iean :n my 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 125 

" Virginia would answer him, — 'Oh, my 
dear brother, the rays of the sun in the 
morning on the tops of the rocks give me 
less joy than the sight of you. I love my 
mother, — I love yours ; but when they call 
you their son, I love them a thousand times 
more. When they caress you, I feel it more 
sensibly than when I am caressed myself. 
You ask me what makes you love me. Why, . 
all creatures that are brought up together 
love one another. Look at our birds : reared 
up in the same nests, they love each other 
as we do ; they are always together like us. 
Hark ! how they call and answer from one 
tree to another. So when the echoes bring 
to my ears the air which you play on your 
flute on the top of the mountain, I repeat 
the words at the bottom of the valley. You 
are dear to me more especially since the day 
when you wanted to fight the master of the 
slave for me. Since that time how often 
have I said to myself, " Ah, my brother has 



126 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

a good heart ; but for him, I should have 
died of terror." I pray to God every day 
for my mother and for yours ; for you, and 
for our poor servants : but when I pronounce 
your name, my devotion seems to increase ; — 
I ask so earnestly of God that no harm may 
befall you ! Why do you go so far and climb 
so high, to seek fruits and flowers for me ? 
Have we not enough in our garden already ! 
How much you are fatigued, — you look so 
warm ! ' — and with her little white handker- 
chief she would wipe the damps from his 
face, and then imprint a tender kiss on his 
forehead. 

" For some time past, however, Virginia 
had felt her heart agitated by new sensa- 
tions. Her beautiful blue eyes lost their 
lustre, her cheek its freshness, and her frame 
was overpowered with a universal languor. 
Serenity no longer sat upon her brow, nor 
smiles played upon her lips. She would be- 
come all at once gay without cause for joy, 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 127 

and melancholy without any subject for 
grief. She fled her innocent amusements, 
her gentle toils, and even the society of her 
beloved family; wandering about the most 
unfrequented parts of the plantations, and 
seeking everywhere the rest which she could 
nowhere find. Sometimes, at the sight of 
Paul, she advanced sportively to meet him ; 
but, when about to accost him, was overcome 
by a sudden confusion ; her pale cheeks were 
covered with blushes, and her eyes no longer 
dared to meet those of her brother. Paul 
said to her, — ' The rocks are covered with 
verdure, our birds begin to sing when you 
approach, every thing around you is gay, and 
you only are unhappy/ He then endeavored 
to soothe her by his embraces ; but she turned 
away her head, and fled, trembling, towards 
her mother. The caresses of her brother 
excited too much emotion in her agitated 
heart, and she sought, in the arms of her 
mother, refuge from herself. Paul, unused 



128 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

to the secret windings of the female heart, 
vexed himself in vain in endeavoring to 
comprehend the meaning of these new and 
strange caprices. Misfortunes seldom come 
alone, and a serious calamity now impended 
over these families. 

" One of those summers, which sometimes 
desolate the countries situated between the 
tropics, now began to spread its ravages over 
this island. It was near the end of Decem- 
ber, when the sun, in Capricorn, darts over 
the Mauritius, during the space of three 
weeks, its vertical fires. The south-east 
wind, which prevails throughout almost the 
whole year, no longer blew. Vast columns 
of dust arose from the highways, and hung 
suspended in the air ; the ground was every- 
where broken into clefts ; the grass was burnt 
up ; hot exhalations issued from the sides of 
the mountains, and their rivulets, for the 
most part, became dry. No refreshing cloud 
ever arose from the sea : fiery vapors, only, 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 129 

during the day, ascended from the plains, and 
appeared, at sunset, like the reflection of a 
vast conflagration. Night brought no cool- 
ness to the heated atmosphere ; and the red 
moon, rising in the misty horizon, appeared 
of supernatural magnitude. The drooping 
cattle, on the sides of the hills, stretching 
out their necks towards heaven, and panting 
for breath, made the valleys re-echo with 
their melancholy lowings : even the Caffre 
by whom they were led threw himself upon 
the earth, in search of some cooling moist- 
ure : but his hopes were vain ; the scorching 
sun had penetrated the whole soil, and the 
stifling atmosphere everywhere resounded 
with the buzzing noise of insects, seeking to 
allay their thirst with the blood of men and 
of animals. 

" During this sultry season, Virginia's 
restlessness and disquietude were much in- 
creased. One night in particular, being 
unable to sleep, she arose from her bed, 



130 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

sat down, and returned to rest again ; but 
could find in no attitude either slumber or 
repose. At length she bent her way, by the 
light of the moon, towards her fountain, and 
gazed at its spring, which, notwithstanding 
the drought, still trickled in silver threads 
down the brown sides of the rock. She flung 
herself into the basin : its coolness reani- 
mated her spirits, and a thousand soothing 
remembrances came to her mind. She recol- 
lected that in her infancy her mother and 
Margaret had amused themselves by bathing 
her with Paul in this very spot ; that he after- 
wards, reserving this bath for her sole use, 
had hollowed out its bed, covered the bottom 
with sand, and sown aromatic herbs around 
its borders. She saw in the water, upon her 
naked arms and bosom, the reflection of the 
two cocoa trees which were planted at her 
own and her brother's birth, and which inter- 
wove above her head their green branches 
and young fruit. She thought of Paul's 










PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 131 

friendship, sweeter than the odor of the 
blossoms, purer than the waters of the foun- 
tain, stronger than the intertwining palm 
trees, and she sigheci. Reflecting on the 
hour of the night, and the profound solitude, 
her imagination became disturbed. Suddenly 
she flew, affrighted, from those dangerous 
shades, and those w 7 aters which seemed to 
her hotter than the tropical sunbeam, and 
ran to her mother for refuge. More than 
once, wishing to reveal her sufferings, she 
pressed her mother's hand within her own ; 
more than once she was. ready to pronounce 
the name of Paul : but her oppressed heart 
left her lips no power of utterance, and, 
leaning her head on her mother's bosom, 
she bathed it with her tears. 

"Madame- de la Tour, though she easily 
discerned the source of her daughter's un- 
easiness, did not think proper to speak to her 
on the subject. 'My dear child,' said she, 
1 offer up your supplications to God, who dis- 



132 PAUL AXD VIRGINIA, 

poses at His will of health and of life. He 

subjects you to trial now, in order to recom- 
pense you hereafter. Remember that we are 
only placed upon earth for the exercise of 
virtue.' 

"The excessive heat in the meantime 
raised vast masses of vapor from the ocean, 
which hung over the island like an immense 
parasol, and gathered round the summits of 
the mountains. Long hakes of fire issued 
from time to time fro::: these mist-embosomed 
peaks. The most awful thunder soon after 
re-echoed through the woods, the plains, and 
the valleys: the rains fell from the skies in 
cataracts; foaming torrents rushed down the 
sides of this mountain; the bottom of the 
valley became a sea, and the elevated plat- 
form on which the cottages were built, a little 
island. The accumulated waters, having no 
other outlet, rushed with violence through 
the narrow gorge which leads into the valley, 
tossing and roaring, and bearing along with 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 133 

them a mingled wreck of soil, trees, and 
rocks. 

" The trembling families meantime ad- 
dressed their prayers to God all together in 
the cottage of Madame de la Tour, the roof 
of which cracked fearfully from the force of 
the winds. So incessant and vivid were the 
lightnings, that although the doors and win- 
dow shutters were securely fastened, every 
object without could be distinctly seen 
through the joints in the wood-work! Paul, 
followed by Domingo, went with intrepidity 
from one cottage to another, notwithstanding 
the fury of the tempest ; here supporting a 
partition with a buttress, there driving in a 
stake ; and only returning to the family to 
calm their fears, by the expression of a hope 
that the storm was passing away. Accord- 
ingly, in the evening the rain ceased, the 
trade-winds of the south-east pursued their 
ordinary course, the tempestuous clouds 
were driven away to the northward, and the 
setting sun appeared in the horizon. 



134 PAUL AXD VIRGINIA. 

"Virginia's first wish was to visit the spot 
called her Resting-place. Paul approached 
her with a timid air, and offered her the 
assistance of his arm : she accepted it with 
a smile, and they left the cottage together. 
The air was clear and fresh : white vapors 
arose from the ridges of the mountain, which 
was furrowed here and there by the courses 
of torrents, marked in foam, and now begin- 
ning to dry up on all sides. As for the gar- 
den, it was completely torn to pieces by deep 
water-courses, the roots of most of the fruit 
trees were laid bare, and vast heaps of sand 
covered the borders of the meadows, and had 
choked up Virginia's bath. The two cocoa 
trees, however, were still erect, and still 
retained their freshness : but they were no 
longer surrounded by turf, or arbors, or 
birds, except a few amadavid birds, which, 
upon the points of the neighboring rocks, 
were lamenting, in plaintive notes, the 
loss of their youn^ 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 135 

"At the sight of this general desolation, 
Virginia exclaimed to Paul, — ' You brought 
birds hither, and the hurricane has killed 
them. You planted this garden, and it is 
now destroyed. Every thing then upon 
earth perishes, and it is only Heaven that is 
not subject to change.' — 'Why/ answered 
Paul, ' cannot I give you something that be- 
longs to Heaven ? but I have nothing of my 
own, even upon the earth/ Virginia with a 
blush replied, g You have the picture of 
Saint Paul.' As soon as she had uttered the 
words, he flew in quest of it to his mother's 
cottage. This picture was a miniature of 
Paul the Hermit, which Margaret, who 
viewed it with feelings of great devotion, 
had worn at her neck while a girl, and which, 
after she became a mother, she had placed 
round her child's. It had even happened, 
that being, while pregnant, abandoned by all 
the world, and continually occupied in con- 
templating the image of this benevolent 



136 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 

recluse, her offspring had contracted some 
resemblance to this revered object She 
therefore bestowed upon him the name of 
Paul, giving him for his patron a saint who 
had passed his life far from mankind, by 
whom he had been first deceived, and then 
forsaken. Virginia, on receiving this little 
present from the hands of Paul, said to him, 
with emotion, — ' My dear brother, I will 
never part with this while I live ; nor will I 
ever forget that you have given me the only 
thing you have in the world/ At this tone 
of friendship, — this unhoped-for return of 
familiarity and tenderness, Paul attempted 
to embrace her ; but, light as a bird, she 
escaped him, and fled away, leaving him as- 
tonished, and unable to account for conduct 
so extraordinary. 

" Meanwhile Margaret said to Madame de 
la Tour, — ' Why do we not unite our children 
by marriage ? They have a strong attach- 
ment for each other, and though my son 



PAUL AXD VIRGINIA. 137 

hardly understands the real nature of his 
feelings, yet great care and watchfulness will 
be necessary. Under such circumstances it 
will be as well not to leave them too much 
together.' Madame de la Tour replied, — 
'They are too young, and too poor. What 
grief would it occasion us to see Virginia 
bring into the world unfortunate children, 
whom she would not perhaps have sufficient 
strength to rear ! Your negro, Domingo, is 
almost too old to labor ; Mary is infirm. As 
for myself, my dear friend, at the end of 
fifteen years, I find my strength greatly de- 
creased ; the feebleness of age advances 
rapidly in hot climates, and, above all, under 
the pressure of misfortune. Paul is our only 
hope : let us wait till he comes to maturity, 
and his increased strength enables him to 
support us by his labor : at present you well 
know that we have only sufficient to supply 
the wants of the day : but were we to send 
Paul for a short time to the Indies, he might 



138 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 

acquire, by commerce, the means of purchas- 
ing some slaves ; and at his return we could 
unite him to Virginia ; for I am persuaded 
no one on earth would render her so happy 
as your son. We will consult our neighbor 
on this subject/ 

" They accordingly asked my advice, which 
was in accordance w r ith Madame de la Tour's 
opinion. 'The Indian seas/ I observed to 
them, 'are calm, and, in choosing a favorable 
time of the year, the voyage out is seldom 
longer than six weeks ; and the same time 
may be allowed for the return home. We 
will furnish Paul with a little venture from 
my neighborhood, where he is much beloved. 
If we were only to supply him with some 
raw cotton, of which we make no use for 
want of mills to work it, some ebony, which 
is here so common that it serves us for firing, 
and some rosin, which is found in our woods, 
he would be able to sell those articles, though 
useless here, to good advantage in the Indies/ 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 139 

" I took upon myself to obtain permission 
from Monsieur de la Bourdonnais to under- 
take this voyage; and I determined previ- 
ously to mention the affair to Paul. But 
what was my surprise, when this young man 
said to me, with a degree of good sense 
above his age, 'And why do you wish me to 
leave my family for this precarious pursuit of 
Fortune? Is there any commerce in the 
world more advantageous than the culture of 
the ground, which yields sometimes fifty or a 
hundred-fold ? If we wish to en^a^e in com- 
merce, can we not do so by carrying our 
superfluities to the town, without my wander- 
ing to the Indies ? Our mothers tell me, 
that Domingo is old and feeble ; but I am 
young, and gather strength every day. If 
any accident should happen during my ab- 
sence, above all, to Virginia, who already 
suffers — Oh, no, no ! — I cannot resolve to 
leave them/ 

" So decided an answer threw me into 



140 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

great perplexity, for Madame de la Tour 
had not concealed from me the cause of 
Virginia's illness and want of spirits, and 
her desire of separating these young people 
till they were a few years older. I took care, 
however, not to drop anything which could 
lead Paul to suspect the existence of these 
motives. 

" About this period a ship from France 
brought Madame de la Tour a letter from 
her aunt. The fear of death, without which 
hearts as insensible as hers would never feel, 
had alarmed her into compassion. When she 
wrote, she was recovering from a dangerous 
illness, which had, however, left her incurably 
languid and weak. She desired her niece to 
return to France; or, if her health forbade 
her to undertake so long a voyage, she 
begged her to send Virginia, on whom she 
promised to bestow a good education, to pro- 
cure for her a splendid marriage, and to leave 
her heiress of her whole fortune. She con- 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 141 

eluded by enjoining strict obedience to 
her will, in gratitude, she said, for her great 
kindness. 

" At the perusal of this letter general con- 
sternation spread itself through the whole 
assembled party. Domingo and Mary began 
to weep. Paul, motionless with surprise, 
appeared almost ready to burst with indig- 
nation ; while Virginia, fixing her eyes 
anxiously upon her mother, had not power 
to utter a single word. * And can you now 
leave us ? ' cried Margaret to Madame de la 
Tour. 'No, my dear friend, no, my beloved 
children/ replied Madame de la Tour ; ' I 
will never leave you. I have lived with you, 
and with you I will die. I have known no 
happiness but in your affection. If my 
health be deranged, my past misfortunes 
are the cause. My heart has been deeply 
wounded by the cruelty of my relations, and 
by the loss of my beloved husband. But I 
have since found more consolation and more 



142 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

real happiness with you, in these humble 
huts, than all the wealth of my family could 
now lead me to expect in my own country.' 

"At this soothing language every eye over- 
flowed with tears of delight. Paul, pressing 
Madame de la Tour in his arms, exclaimed, — 
' Neither will I leave you ! I will not go to 
the Indies. We will all labor for you, dear 
mamma ; and you shall never feel any want 
with us.' But of the whole society, the per- 
son who displayed the least transport, and 
who probably felt the most, was Virginia ; 
and, during the remainder of the day, the 
gentle gayety which flowed from her heart, 
and proved that her peace of mind was 
restored, completed the general satisfaction. 

" At sunrise the next day, just as they had 
concluded offering up, as usual, their morn- 
ing prayer before breakfast, Domingo came 
to inform them that a gentleman on horse- 
back, followed by two slaves, was coming 
towards the plantation. It was Monsieur de 



PAUL AXD VIRGINIA. 143 

la Bourdonnais. He entered the cottage, 
where he found the family at breakfast. 
Virginia had prepared, according to the cus- 
tom of the country, coffee, and rice boiled in 
water. To these she had added hot yams, 
and fresh plantains. The leaves of the 
plantain-tree supplied the want of table- 
linen ; and calabash shells, split in two, 
served for cups. The governor exhibited, 
at first, some astonishment at the homeliness 
of the dwelling : then, addressing himself to 
Madame de la Tour, he observed, that 
although public affairs drew his attention 
too much from the concerns of individuals, 
she had many claims on his good offices. 
1 You have an aunt at Paris, Madam/ he 
added, ' a woman of quality, and immensely 
rich, who expects that you will hasten to see 
her, and who means to bestow upon you her 
whole fortune/ Madame de la Tour replied, 
that the state of her health would not permit 
her to undertake so long a voyage. 'At 



144 PAUL AXD VIRGINIA. 

least/ resumed Monsieur de la Bourdonnais, 
'you cannot, without injustice, deprive this 
amiable young lady, your daughter, of so 
noble an inheritance. I will not conceal 
from you, that your aunt has made use of 
her influence to secure your daughter being 
sent to her; and that I have received official 
letters, in which I am ordered to exert my 
authority, if necessary, to that effect. But 
as I only wish to employ my power for the 
purpose of rendering the inhabitants of this 
country happy, I expect from your good 
sense the voluntary sacrifice of a few years, 
upon which your daughter's establishment in 
the world, and the welfare of your whole life, 
depends. Wherefore do we come to these 
islands ? Is it not to acquire a fortune ? 
And will it not be more agreeable to return, 
and find it in vour own countrv ? ' 

"He then took a large bag of piastres 
from one of his slaves, and placed it upon 
the table. 'This sum,' he continued, 'is 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 145 

allotted by your aunt to defray the outlay 
necessary for the equipment of the young 
lady for her voyage.' Gently reproaching 
Madame de la Tour for not having had 
recourse to him in her difficulties, he ex- 
tolled at the same time her noble fortitude. 
Upon this Paul said to the governor, — 'My 
mother did apply to you, sir, and you re- 
ceived her ill/ — ' Have vou another child, 
Madam?' said Monsieur de la Bourdonnais 
to Madame de la Tour. ' No, sir/ she re- 
plied ; 'this is the son of my friend ; but he 
and Virginia are equally dear to us, and we 
mutually consider them both as our own 
children/ ' Young man/ said the governor 
to Paul, 'when you have acquired a little 
more experience of the world, you will know 
that it is the misfortune of people in place 
to be deceived, and to bestow, in conse- 
quence, upon intriguing vice, that which 
they would wish to give to modest merit/ 
u Monsieur de la Bourdonnais, at the re- 



146 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

quest of Madame de la Tour, placed himself 
next to her at table, and breakfasted after 
the manner of the Creoles, upon coffee, 
mixed with rice boiled in water. He was 
delighted with the order and cleanliness 
which prevailed in the little cottage, the 
harmonv of the two interesting families, 
and the zeal of their old servants. ■ Here/ 
he exclaimed, ' I discern only wooden furni- 
ture ; but I find serene countenances, and 
hearts of gold.' Paul, enchanted with the 
affability of the governor, said to him, — 'I 
wish to be your friend ; for you are a good 
man.' Monsieur de la Bourdonnais received 
with pleasure this insular compliment, and, 
taking Paul by the hand, assured him that 
he might rely upon his friendship. 

" After breakfast, he took Madame de la 
Tour aside, and informed her that an opportu- 
nity would soon offer itself of sending her 
daughter to France, in a ship which was 
going to sail in a short time ; that he would 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 147 

put her under the charge of a lady, one of 
the passengers, who was a relation of his 
own ; and that she must not think of re- 
nouncing an immense fortune, on account of 
the pain of being separated from her daugh- 
ter for a brief interval. 'Your aunt,' he 
added, 'cannot live more than two years; of 
this I am assured by her friends. Think of 
it seriously. Fortune does not visit us every 
day. Consult your friends. I am sure that 
every person of good sense will be of my 
opinion.' She answered, 'that, as she desired 
no other happiness henceforth in the world 
than in promoting that of her daughter, she 
hoped to be allowed to leave her departure 
for France entirely to her own inclination. ' 

" Madame de la Tour was not sorry to find 
an opportunity of separating Paul and Vir- 
ginia for a short time, and provide, by this 
means, for their mutual felicity at a future 
period. She took her daughter aside, and 
said to her, — ' My dear child, our servants 



148 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

are now old. Paul is still very young; Mar- 
garet is advanced in years, and I am already 
infirm. If I should die, what would become 
of you, without fortune, in the midst of 
these deserts ? You would then be left 
alone, without any person who could afford 
you much assistance, and would be obliged 
to labor without ceasing, as a hired servant, 
in order to support your wretched existence. 
This idea overcomes me with sorrow/ Vir- 
ginia answered, — ( God has appointed us to 
labor, and to bless him every day. Up to 
this time he has never forsaken us, and he 
never will forsake us in time to come. Kis 
providence watches most especially over the 
unfortunate. You have told me this very 
often, my dear mother! I cannot resolve to 
leave you/ Madame de la Tour replied with 
much emotion, — 'I have no other aim than 
to render you happy, and to marry you one 
day to Paul, who is not really your brother. 
Remember then that his fortune depends 
upon vou.' 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 149 

" A young girl who is in love believes that 
every one else is ignorant of her passion ; 
she throws over her eyes the veil with which 
she covers the feelings of her heart : but 
when it is once lifted by a friendly hand, the 
hidden sorrows of her attachment escape as 
through a newly-opened barrier, and the 
sweet outpourings of unrestrained confidence 
succeed to her former mystery and reserve. 
Virginia, deeply affected by this new proof 
of her mother's tenderness, related to her 
the cruel struggles she had undergone, of 
which Heaven alone had been witness : she 
saw, she said, the hand of Providence in the 
assistance of an affectionate mother, who 
approved of her attachment, and would 
guide her by her counsels ; and as she was 
now strengthened by such support, every 
consideration led her to remain with her 
mother, without anxiety for the present, and 
without apprehension for the future. 

" Madame de la Tour, perceiving that this 



150 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

confidential conversation had produced an 
effect altogether different from that which 
she expected, said, — ' My dear child, I do 
not wish to constrain you : think over it at 
leisure, but conceal your affection from Paul. 
It is better not to let a man know that the 
heart of his mistress is gained/ 

" Virginia and her mother were sitting to- 
gether by themselves the same evening, 
when a tall man, dressed in a blue cassock, 
entered their cottage. He w r as a missionary 
priest, and the confessor of Madame de la 
Tour and her daughter, who had now been 
sent to them by the governor. ' My chil- 
dren/ he exclaimed as he entered, ' God be 
praised ! you are now rich. You can now 
attend to the kind suggestions of your benev- 
olent hearts, and do good to the poor. I 
know what Monsieur de la Bourdonnais has 
said to you, and what you have said in reply. 
Your health, dear madam, obliges you to 
remain here ; but you, young lady, are with- 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 151 

out excuse. We must obey the direction of 
Providence ; and we must also obey our aged 
relations, even when they are unjust. A 
sacrifice is required of you ; but it is the will 
of God. Our Lord devoted himself for you ; 
and you, in imitation of his example, must 
give up something for the welfare of your 
family. Your voyage to France will end 
happily. You will surely consent to go, my 
dear young lady/ 

" Virginia, with downcast eyes, answered, 
trembling, — ' If it is the command of God, I 
will not presume to oppose it. Let the will 
of God be done ! ' As she uttered these 
words, she wept. 

" The priest went away, in order to inform 
the governor of the success of his mission. 
In the meantime, Madame de la Tour sent 
Domingo to request me to come to her, that 
she might consult me respecting Virginia's 
departure. I was not at all of opinion that 
she ought to go. I consider it as a fixed 



152 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

principle of happiness, that we ought to pre- 
fer the advantages of nature to those of for- 
tune, and never go in search of that at a 
distance, which we may find at home, — in 
our own bosoms. But what could be expected 
from my advice, in opposition to the illusions 
of a splendid fortune ? — or from my simple 
reasoning, when in competition with the 
prejudices of the world, and an authority held 
sacred by Madame de la Tour ? This lady, 
indeed, had only consulted me out of polite- 
ness ; she had ceased to deliberate since she 
had heard the decision of her confessor. 
Margaret herself, who, notwithstanding the 
advantages she expected for her son from 
the possession of Virginia's fortune, had 
hitherto opposed her departure, made no fur- 
ther objections. As for Paul, in ignorance 
of what had been determined, but alarmed at 
the secret conversations which Virginia had 
been holding with her mother, he abandoned 
himself to melancholy. * They are plotting 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 153 

something against me/ cried he, 'for they 
conceal everything from me.' 

" A report having in the meantime been 
spread that Fortune had visited these rocks, 
merchants of every description were seen 
climbing their steep ascent. Now, for the 
first time, were seen displayed in these hum- 
ble huts the richest stuffs of India ; the fine 
dimity of Gondelore ; the handkerchiefs of 
Pellicate and Masulipatan ; the plain, striped, 
and embroidered muslins of Dacca, so beau- 
tifully transparent-; the delicately white cot- 
tons of Surat, and linens of all colors. They 
also brought with them the gorgeous silks 
of China; satin damasks, some white, and 
others grass-green and bright red : pink 
taffetas, with a profusion of satins and 
gauze of tonquin, both plain and decorated 
with flowers ; soft pekins, downy as cloth ; 
with white and yellow nankeens, and the 
calicoes of Madagascar. 

" Madame de la Tour wished her daughter 



154 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

to purchase whatever she liked ; she only 
examined the goods, and inquired the price, 
to take care that the dealers did not cheat 
her. Virginia made choice of everything 
she thought would be useful or agreeable to 
her mother, or to Margaret and her son, 
'This/ said she, 'will be wanted for furnish- 
ing the cottage, and that will be very useful 
to Mary and Domingo/ In short, the bag of 
piastres was almost emptied before she even 
began to consider her own wants ; and she 
was obliged to receive back for her own use 
a share of the presents which she had dis- 
tributed among the family circle. 

" Paul, overcome with sorrow at the sight 
of these gifts of fortune, which he felt were 
a presage of Virginia's departure, came a few 
days after to my dwelling. With an air of 
deep despondency he said to me, — ' My sister 
is going away ; she is already making prepa- 
rations for her voyage. I conjure you to 
come and exert your influence over her 



PAUL AXD VIRGINIA. 155 

mother and mine, in order to detain her 
here.' I could not refuse the young man's 
solicitations, although well convinced that 
my representations would be unavailing. 

"Virginia had ever appeared to me charm- 
ing when clad in the coarse cloth of Bengal, 
with a red handkerchief tied round her head; 
you may therefore imagine how much her 
beauty was increased, when she was attired 
in the graceful and elegant costume worn by 
the ladies of this country! She had on a 
white muslin dress, lined with pink taffeta. 
Her somewhat tall and slender figure was 
shown to advantage in her new attire, and 
the simple arrangement of her hair accorded 
admirably with the form of her head. Her 
fine blue eyes were filled with an expression 
of melancholy; and the struggles of passion, 
with which her heart was agitated, imparted 
a flush to her cheek, and to her voice a tone 
of deep emotion. The contrast between her 
pensive look and her gay habiliments ren- 



i-o PAUL AND VIRGINIA 

dered her mere interesting than ever, nor 
was it possible to see :: hear her unmoved. 
Paul became more and more melancholy; 

and at length Margaret, distressed a: the 
situation :: her son, took him aside, and 
said to him, — f Why, my dear child, will you 
cherish vain hopes., which will :::ly render 
your disappointment more bitter? It is time 
for me to make known :: you the secret of 
v:ur life and :: mine, Mademtiselle de la 
Tour belongs, by her mother's side, to a rich 
and noble family, while y:u are but the s:n 
cf a peer peasant girl; and what is wrrse 
you are illegitimate.' 

"Paul, whe had never heard this last ex- 
pression be::re. inquired with eagerness its 

tiring. His mother replied, — 'I was not 
married :: ycur father. When I was a girl. 
sefuced by love. I was guilty :f a weakness 
of which you are the offspring. The conse- 
quence ::' my fault is, that you are deprived 
of the protection of a father s family, and by 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 157 

my flight from home you have also lost that 
of your mother's. Unfortunate child ! you 
have no relation in the world but me ! ' — and 
she shed a flood of tears. Paul, pressing 
her in his arms, exclaimed, ' Oh, my dear 
mother! since I have no relation in the 
world but you, I will love you all the more. 
But what a secret have you just disclosed to 
me ! I now see the reason why Mademoiselle 
de la Tour has estranged herself so much 
from me for the last two months, and why 
she has determined to go to France. Ah ! I 
perceive too well that she despises me ! ' 

"The hour of supper being arrived, we 
gathered round the table : but the different 
sensations with which we were agitated left 
us little inclination to eat, and the meal, if 
such it may be called, passed in silence. 
Virginia was the first to rise ; she went out, 
and seated herself on the very spot where 
we now are. Paul hastened after her, and 
sat down by her side. Both of them, for 



158- PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

some time, kept a profound silence. It was 
one of those delicious nights which are so 
common between the tropics, and to the 
beauty of which no pencil can do justice. 
The moon appeared in the midst of the firm- 
ament, surrounded by a curtain of clouds, 
which was gradually unfolded by her beams. 
Her light insensibly spread itself over the 
mountains of the island, and their distant 
peaks glistened with a silvery green. The 
winds were perfectly still. We heard among 
the woods, at the bottom of the valleys, and 
on the summits of the rocks, the piping cries 
and the soft notes of the birds, wantoning in 
their nests, and rejoicing in the brightness of 
the night, and the serenity of the atmosphere. 
The hum of insects was heard in the grass. 
The stars sparkled in the heavens, and 
their lucid orbs were reflected, in trembling 
sparkles, from the tranquil bosom of the 
ocean. Virginia's eyes wandered distractedly 
over its vast and gloomy horizon, distinguish- 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 159 

able from the shore of the island only by the 
red fires in the fishing boats. She perceived 
at the entrance of the harbor a light and a 
shadow : these were the watchlight and the 
hull of the vessel in which she was to em- 
bark for Europe, and which, all ready for 
sea, lay at anchor, waiting for a breeze. Af- 
fected at this sight, she turned away her 
head, in order to hide her tears from Paul. 

" Madame de la Tour, Margaret, and I, 
were seated at a little distance beneath the 
plantain trees ; and owing to the stillness of 
the night we distinctly heard their conversa- 
tion, which I have not forgotten. 

" Paul said to her, — ' You are going away 
from us, they tell me, in three days. You 
do not fear then to encounter the dangers of 
the sea, at the sight of which you are so 
much terrified ? ' 'I must perform my duty,' 
answered Virginia, ' by obeying my parent/ 
' You leave us/ resumed Paul, 'for a distant 
relation, whom you have never seen/ ' Alas ! ' 



i6o PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

cried Virginia, 'I would have remained here 
my whole life, but my mother would not 
have it so. My confessor, too, told me it 
was the will of God that I should go, and 
that life was a scene of trials ! — and oh ! 
this is indeed a severe one/ 

" i What/ exclaimed Paul, ' you could find 
so many reasons for going, and not one for 
remaining here ! Ah ! there is one reason 
for your departure that you have not men- 
tioned. Riches have great attractions. You 
will soon find in the new world to which you 
are going, another, to whom you will give 
the name of brother, which you bestow on 
me no more. You will choose that brother 
from amongst persons who are worthy of 
you by their birth, and by a fortune which I 
have not to offer. But where can you go to 
be happier ? On what shore will you land, 
and find it dearer to you than the spot which 
gave you birth ? — and where will you form 
around you a society more delightful to you 



PAUL AXD VIRGINIA. 161 

than this, by which you are so much beloved ? 
How will you bear to live without your 
mother's caresses, to which you are so accus- 
tomed ? What will become of her already 
advanced in years, when she no longer sees 
you at her side at table, in the house, in the 
walks, where she used to lean upon you? 
What will become of my mother, who loves 
you with the same affection ? What shall I 
say to comfort them when I see them weep- 
ing for your absence ? Cruel Virginia ! I 
say nothing to you of myself ; but what will 
become of me, when in the morning I shall 
no more see you; when the evening will 
come, and not reunite us ?— when I shall 
gaze on those tw T o palm trees, planted at our 
birth, and so long the witnesses of our mu- 
tual friendship ? Ah ! since your lot is 
changed, — since you seek in a far country 
other possessions than the fruits of my labor, 
let me go with you in the vessel in which 
you are about to embark. I will sustain 



i62 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

your spirits in the midst of those tempests 
which terrify you so much, even on shore. 
I will lay my head upon your bosom : I will 
warm your heart upon my own ; and in 
France, where you are going in search of 
fortune and of grandeur, I will wait upon 
you as your slave. Happy only in your hap- 
piness, you will find me, in those palaces 
where I shall see you receiving the homage 
and adoration of all, rich and noble enough 
to make you the greatest of all sacrifices, by 
dying at your feet/ 

" The violence of his emotions stopped his 
utterance, and we then heard Virginia, who, 
in a voice broken by sobs, uttered these 
words : — ' It is for you that I go, — for you, 
whom I see tired to death every day by the 
labor of sustaining two helpless families. If 
I have accepted this opportunity of becom- 
ing rich, it is only to return a thousand-fold 
the good which you have done us. Can any 
fortune be equal to your friendship? Why 




" At these words, Paul seized her in his arms." — Page 162. 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 163 

do you talk about your birth ? Ah ! if it 
were possible for me still to have a brother, 
should I make choice of any other than you ? 
Oh, Paul ! Paul ! you are far dearer to me 
than a brother ; how much has it cost me to 
repulse you from me ! Help me to tear my- 
self from what I value more than existence, 
till Heaven shall bless our union. But I will 
stay or go, — I will live or die, — dispose of 
me as you will. Unhappy that I am ! I 
could have repelled your caresses, but I can- 
not support your affliction.' 

"At these words Paul seized her in his 
arms, and, holding her pressed close to his 
bosom, cried, in a piercing tone, — ' I will go 
with her, — nothing shall ever part us.' We 
all ran towards him ; and Madame de la Tour 
said to him,— 'My son, if you go, what will 
become of us ? ' 

" He, trembling, repeated after her the 
words, — ' My son ! — my son ! You my 
mother ! ' cried he ; ' you, who would sepa- 



1 64 PAUL AXD VIRGINIA. 

rate the brother from the sister ! We have 
both been nourished at your bosom ; we 
have both been reared upon your knees ; we 
have learned of you to love one another : we 
have said so a thousand times ; and now you 
would separate her from me! — you would 
send her to Europe, that inhospitable coun- 
try which refused you an asylum, and to 
relations, by whom you yourself were aban- 
doned. You will tell me that I have no 
right over her, and that she is not my sister. 
She is everything to me ; — my riches, my 
birth, my family, — all that I have! I know 
no other. We have had but one roof, — one 
cradle, — and we will have but one grave ! If 
she goes, I will follow her. The governor 
will prevent me ! Will he prevent me from 
flinging myself into the sea ? — will he pre- 
vent me from following her by swimming? 
The sea cannot be more fatal to me than the 
land. Since I cannot live with her, at least 
I will die before her eyes, far from you. In- 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 165 

human mother ! — woman without compas- 
sion ! — may the ocean, to which you trust 
her, restore her to you no more ! May the 
waves, rolling back our bodies amid the 
shingles of this beach, give you, in the loss 
of your two children, an eternal subject of 
remorse ! ' 

" At these words, I seized him in my arms, 
for despair had deprived him of reason. His 
eyes sparkled with fire, the perspiration fell 
in great drops from his face ; his knees 
trembled, and I felt his heart beat violently 
against his burning bosom. 

" Virginia, alarmed, said to him, — { Oh, my 
dear Paul, I call to witness the pleasures of 
our early age, your griefs and my own, and 
everything that can for ever bind two unfor- 
tunate beings to each other, that if I remain 
at home, I will live but for you ; that if I go, 
I will one day return to be yours. I call you 
all to witness ; — you who have reared me 
from my infancy, who dispose of my life, 



1 66 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

and who see my tears. I swear by that 
Heaven which hears me, by the sea which I 
am going to pass, by the air I breathe, and 
which I never sullied by a falsehood/ 

"As the sun softens and precipitates an 
icy rock from the summit of one of the 
Apennines, so the impetuous passions of 
the young man were subdued by the voice 
of her he loved. He bent his head, and a 
torrent of tears fell from his eyes. His 
mother, mingling her tears with his, held 
him in her arms, but was unable to speak. 
Madame de la Tour, half distracted, said to 
me, — ' I can bear this no longer. My heart 
is quite broken. This unfortunate voyage 
shall not take place. Do take my son home 
with you. Not one of us has had any rest 
the whole week/ 

"I said to Paul, 'My dear friend, your 
sister shall remain here. To-morrow we will 
talk to the governor about it : leave your 
family to take some rest, and come and pass 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 167 

the night with me. It is late ; it is mid- 
night ; the southern cross is just above the 
horizon.' 

" He suffered himself to be led away in 
silence ; and, after a night of great agitation, 
he arose at break of day, and returned home. 

"But why should I continue any longer to 
you the recital of this history? There is but 
one aspect of human existence which we can 
ever contemplate with pleasure. Like the 
globe upon which we revolve, the fleeting 
course of our life is but a day : and if one 
part of that day be visited by light, the other 
is thrown into darkness. 5 ' 

"My father," I answered, "finish, I con- 
jure you, the history which you have begun 
in a manner so interesting. If the images 
of happiness are the most pleasing, those of 
misfortune are more instructive. Tell me 
what became of the unhappy young man." 

"The first object beheld by Paul in his 
way home was the negro woman Mary, who, 



1 68 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

mounted on a rock, was earnestly looking 
towards the sea. As soon as he perceived 
her he called to her from a distance, — 
' Where is Virginia ? ' Mary turned her 
head towards her young master, and began 
to weep. Paul, distracted, retracing his steps, 
ran to the harbor. He was there informed, 
that Virginia had embarked at break of day, 
and that the vessel had immediately set sail, 
and was now out of sight. He instantly 
returned to the plantation, which he crossed 
without uttering a word. 

" Quite perpendicular as appears the wall 
of rocks behind us, those green platforms 
which separate their summits are so many 
stages, by means of which you may reach, 
through some difficult paths, that cone of 
sloping and inaccessible rocks, which is 
called The Thumb. At the foot of that 
cone is an extended slope of ground, cov- 
ered with lofty trees, and so steep and ele- 
vated that it looks like a forest in the air, 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 169 

surrounded by tremendous precipices. The 
clouds, which are constantly attracted round 
the summit of The Thumb, supply innumera- 
ble rivulets, which fall to so great a depth in 
the valley situated on the other side of the 
mountain, that from this elevated point the 
sound of their cataracts cannot be heard. 
From that spot you can discern a considera- 
ble part of the island, diversified by preci- 
pices and mountain peaks, and, amongst 
others, Peter-Booth and the Three Breasts, 
with their valleys full of woods. You 
also command an extensive view of the 
ocean, and can even perceive the Isle of 
Bourbon, forty leagues to the westward. 
From the summit of that stupendous pile 
of rocks Paul caught sight of the vessel 
which was bearing away Virginia, and which 
now, ten leagues out at sea, appeared like a 
, black spot in the midst of the ocean. He 
remained a great part of the day with his 
eyes fixed on this object : when it had dis- 



l 7 o PAUL AXD VIRGINIA. 

appeared, he still fancied he beheld it; and 
when, at length, the traces which clung to 
his imagination were lost in the mists of the 
horizon, he seated himself en that wild point, 
for ever beaten by the winds, which never 
cease to agitate the tops of the cabbage and 
gum trees, and the hoarse and moaning mur- 
murs of which, similar to the distant sound 
of organs, inspire a profound melancholy. 
On this spot I found him, his head reclined 
on the rock, and his eyes fixed upon the 
ground. I had fall awed him from the earliest 
dawn, and, after much importunity, I pre- 
vailed on him to descend from the heights, 
and return to his family. I went home with 
him, where the first impulse of his mind, on 
seeing Madame de la Tour, was to reproach 
her bitterly for having deceived him. She 
told us, that a favorable wind having sprung 
up, at three o'clock in the morning, and the 
vessel being ready to sail, the governor, at- 
tended by some of his staff, and the mis- 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 171 

sionary, had come with a palanquin to fetch 
her daughter; and that, notwithstanding 
Virginia's objections, her own tears and en- 
treaties, and the lamentations of Margaret, 
everybody exclaiming all the time that it 
was for the general welfare, they had carried 
her away almost dying. 'At least/ cried 
Paul, 'if I had bid her farewell, I should 
now be more calm. I would have said to 
her, — " Virginia, if, during the time w r e have 
lived together, one word may have escaped 
me which has offended you, before you leave 
me for ever, tell me that you forgive me." 
I would have said to her, — " Since I am des- 
tined to see you no more, farewell, my dear 
Virginia, farewell ! Live far from me, con- 
tented and happy!" ' When he saw that 
his mother and Madame de la Tour were 
weeping, — 'You must now/ said he, 'seek 
some other hand to wipe away your tears;' 
and then, rushing out of the house, and 
groaning aloud, he wandered up and down 



172 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

the plantation. He hovered in particular 
about all those spots which had once been 
most endeared to Virginia. He said to the 
goats and their little ones, which followed 
him, bleating, — ' What do you want of me ? 
You will see with me no more her who used 
to feed you with her own hand/ He went 
to the bower called Virginia's Resting-place, 
and, as the birds flew around him, exclaimed, 
? Poor birds ! you will fly no more to meet 
her who cherished you!' — and observing 
Fidele running backwards and forwards in 
search of her, he heaved a deep sigh, and 
cried, — 'Ah, you will never find her again.' 
At length he went and seated himself upon 
the rock where he had conversed with her 
the preceding evening; and at the sight of 
the ocean, upon which he had seen the 
vessel disappear which had borne her away, 
his heart overflowed with anguish, and he 
wept bitterly. 

" We continually watched his movements, 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 173 

apprehensive of some fatal consequence 
from the violent agitation of his mind. His 
mother and Madame de la Tour conjured 
him, in the most tender manner, not to in- 
crease their affliction by his despair. At 
length the latter soothed his mind by lavish- 
ing upon him epithets calculated to awaken 
his hopes, — calling him her son, her dear 
son, her son-in-law, whom she destined for 
her daughter. She persuaded him to return 
home, and to take some food. He seated 
himself next to the place which used to be 
occupied by the companion of his childhood; 
and, as if she had still been present, he 
spoke to her, and made as though he would 
offer her whatever he knew was most agree- 
able to her taste : then, starting from this 
dream of fancy, he began to weep. For 
some days he employed himself in gathering 
together everything which had belonged to 
Virginia, — the last nosegays she had worn, 
the cocoa shell from which she used to 



1 1-4 paul a::d virgixia. 

drink: and after kissing a thousand tiroes 
these relics of his beloved, to him the most 

precious treasures which the world contained. 

he hid the::: in his bosom. Amber dees :::t 
shed so sweet a perfume as the veriest trif.es 
touched by those we love. At length, per- 
ceiving that the indulgence cf his grief in- 
creased that ci his mother and Madame ce 
la Tour, and that the wants ci the family 
demanded continual labor, he began, with 
the assistance cf Domingo, to repair the 
damage done to the garden. 

"But. soon after, this young man, hitherto 
indifferent as a Cre:le to everything that was 
passing in the world, begged cf me to teach 
him to read and write, in order that he might 
correspond with Virginia. He afterwards 
wished to obtain a knowledge cf geography, 
that he might form seme idea cf the country 
where she would disembark: and of history, 
that he might know something of the man- 
ners of the societv in which she would be 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 175 

placed. The powerful sentiment of love, 
which directed his present studies, had 
already instructed him in agriculture, and 
in the art of laying out grounds with advan- 
tage and beauty. It must be admitted, that 
to the fond dreams of this restless and ardent 
passion, mankind are indebted for most of 
the arts and sciences, while its disappoint- 
ments have given birth to philosophy, which 
teaches us to bear up under misfortune. 
Love, thus, the general link of all beings, 
becomes the great spring of society, by in- 
citing us to knowledge as well as to pleasure. 
" Paul found little satisfaction in the study 
of geography, which, instead of describing 
the natural history of each country, gave 
only a view of its political divisions and 
boundaries. History, and especially modern 
history, interested him little more. He there 
saw only general and periodical evils, the 
causes of which he could not discover ; wars 
without either motive or reason ; uninterest- 



176 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

ing intrigues ; with nations destitute of prin- 
ciple, and princes void of humanity. To this 
branch of reading he preferred romances, 
which, being chiefly occupied by the private 
feelings and concerns of men, sometimes 
represented situations similar to his own. 
Thus, no book gave him so much pleasure 
as Telemachus, from the pictures it draws of 
pastoral life, and of the passions which are 
most natural to the human breast. He read 
aloud to his mother and Madame de la Tour 
those parts which affected him most sensibly; 
but sometimes, touched by the most tender 
remembrances, his emotion would choke his 
utterance, and his eyes be filled with tears. 
He fancied he had found in Virginia the dig- 
nity and wisdom of Antiope, united to the 
misfortunes and the tenderness of Eucharis. 
With very different sensations he perused 
our fashionable novels, filled with licentious 
morals and maxims. And when he was in- 
formed that these works drew a tolerably 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 177 

faithful picture of European society, he 
trembled, and not without some appearance 
of reason, lest Virginia should become cor- 
rupted by it, and forget him. 

" More than a year and a half, indeed, 
passed away before Madame de la Tour re- 
received any tidings of her aunt or her 
daughter. During that period she only 
accidentally heard that Virginia had safely 
arrived in France. At length, however, a 
vessel which stopped here in its way to the 
Indies brought a packet to Madame de la 
Tour, and a letter written bv Virginia's own 
hand. Although this amiable and considerate 
girl had written in a guarded manner, that 
she might not wound her mother's feelings, 
it appeared evident enough that she was un- 
happy. The letter painted so naturally her 
situation and her character, that I have re- 
tained it almost word for word. 

" 'My dear and beloved Mother, — I have 
already sent you several letters, written by my 



i 7 8 PAUL AXD VIRGINIA, 

own hand, but having received no answer. I am 
afraid the}' have not reached you. I have better 
hopes for this, from the means I have now gained 
of sending you tidings of myself, and of hearing 
from you. 

" ' I have shed many tears since our separa- 
tion. I who never used to weep, but for the 
misfortunes of others ! My aunt was much as- 
tonished, when, having, upon my arrival, inquired 
what accomplishments I possessed, I told her 
that I could neither read nor write. She asked 
me what then I had learnt, since I came into the 
world ; and when I answered that I had been 
taught to take care of the household affairs, and 
to obey your will, she told me that I had received 
the education of a servant. The next day she 
placed me as a boarder in a great abbey near 
Paris, where I have masters of all kinds, who 
teach me, among other things, history, geogra- 
phy, grammar, mathematics, and riding on horse 
back. But I have so little capacity for all these 
sciences, that I fear I shall make but small pro- 
gress with my masters. I feel that I am a very 
poor creature, with very little ability to learn 
what they teach. My aunt's kindness, however, 
does not decrease. She gives me new dresses 
every season; and she has placed two waiting 
women with me, who are dressed like fine ladies. 
She has made me take the title of countess ; but 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 179 

has obliged me to renounce the name of La 
Tour, which is as dear to me as it is to you, 
from all you have told me of the sufferings my 
father endured in order to marry you. She has 
given me in place of your name that of your 
family, which is also dear to me, because it was 
your name when a girl. Seeing myself in so 
splendid a situation, I implored her to let me 
send you something to assist you. But how shall 
I repeat her answer ! Yet you have desired me 
always to tell you the truth. She told me then 
that a little would be of no use to you, and that 
a great deal would only encumber you in the 
simple life you led. As you know I could not 
write, I endeavored, upon my arrival, to send you 
tidings of myself by another hand ; but, finding 
no person here in whom I could place confidence, 
I applied night and day to learn to read and write, 
and heaven, who saw my motive for learning, no 
doubt assisted my endeavors, for I succeeded in 
both in a short time. I entrusted my first letters 
to some of the ladies here, who, I have reason to 
think, carried them to my aunt. This time I 
have recourse to a boarder, who is my friend. I 
send you her direction, by means of which I 
shall receive your answer. My aunt has forbid 
my holding any correspondence whatever with 
any one, lest, she says, it should occasion an 
obstacle to the great views she has for my advan- 



180 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

tage. No person is allowed to see rne at the 
grate but herself, and an old nobleman, one 
of her friends, who, she says, is much pleased 
with me. I am sure I am not at all so with him, 
nor should I, even if it were possible for me to 
be pleased with any one at present. 

44 ' I live in all the splendor of affluence, and 
have not a sous at my disposal. They say I 
might make an improper use of money. Even 
my clothes belong to my femmes de chambre, 
who quarrel about them before I have left them 
off. In the midst of riches, I am poorer than 
when I lived with you \ for I have nothing to give 
away. When I found that the great accomplish- 
ments they taught me would not procure me the 
power of doing the smallest good, I had recourse 
to my needle, of which happily you had taught 
me the use. I send several pairs of stockings of 
my own making for you and my mamma Marga- 
ret, a cap for Domingo, and one of my red hand- 
kerchiefs for Mary. I also send with this packet 
some kernels, and seed of various kinds of fruits 
which I gathered in the abbey park during my 
hours of recreation. I have also sent a few 
seeds of violets, daisies, buttercups, poppies, and 
scabious, which I picked up in the fields. There 
are much more beautiful flowers in the meadows 
of this country than in ours, but nobody cares for 
them. I am sure that you and my mamma Mar- 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 181 

garet will be better pleased with this bag of 
seeds than you were with the bag of piastres, 
which was the cause of our separation and of my 
tears. It will give me great delight if you should 
one day see apple-trees growing by the side of 
our plantains, and elms blending their foliage 
with that of our cocoa trees. You will fancy 
yourself in Normandy, which you love so much. 
" ' You desired me to relate to you my joys and 
my griefs. I have no joys far from you. As for 
my griefs, I endeavor to soothe them by reflect- 
ing that I am in the situation in which it was the 
will of God that you should place me. But my 
greatest affliction is, that no one here speaks to 
me of you, and that I cannot speak of you to 
any one. My femmes de chambre, or rather 
those of my aunt, for they belong more to her 
than to me, told me the other day, when I wished 
to turn the conversation upon the objects most 
dear to me: " Remember, mademoiselle, that 
you are a French woman, and must forget that 
land of savages." Ah ! sooner will I forget my- 
self, than forget the spot on which I was born 
and where you dwell ! It is this country which 
is to me a land of savages, for I live alone, hav- 
ing no one to whom I can impart those feelings 
of tenderness for you which I shall bear with me 
to the grave. — I am, my dearest and beloved 
mother, your affectionate and dutiful daughter, 

'VlRGIXIE DE LA TOUR.' 



182 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

" ' I recommend to your goodness, Mary and 
Domingo, who took so much care of my infancy ; 
caress Fidele for me, who found me in the wood.' 

"Paul was astonished that Virginia had not 
said one word of him, — she, w r ho had not 
forgotten even the house-dog. But he was 
not aware that, however long a woman's let- 
ter may be, she never fails to leave her 
dearest sentiments for the end. 

" IrT a postscript, Virginia particularly re- 
commended to Paul's attention two kinds of 
seeds — those of the violet and the scabious. 
She gave him some instructions upon the 
natural characters of these flow T ers, and the 
spots most proper for their cultivation. 
'The violet,' she said, 'produces a little 
flow r er of a dark purple color, which delights 
to conceal itself beneath the bushes ; but is 
soon discovered by its wide-spreading per- 
fume.' She desired that these seeds might 
be sown by the border of the fountain, at 
the foot of her cocoa tree. ' The scabious,' 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 183 

she added, i produces a beautiful flower of a 
pale blue, and a black ground spotted with 
white. You might fancy it was in mourning ; 
and for this reason it is also called the wid- 
ow's flower. It grows best in bleak spots, 
beaten by the winds.' She begged him to 
sow this upon the rock where she had spoken 
to him at night for the last time, and that, 
in remembrance of her, he would henceforth 
give it the name of the Rock of Adieus. 

" She had put these seeds into a little 
purse, the tissue of which was exceedingly 
simple ; but which appeared above all price 
to Paul, when he saw on it a P and a V en- 
twined together, and knew that the beautiful 
hair which formed the cypher was the hair 
of Virginia. 

" The whole family listened with tears to 
the reading of the letter of this amiable and 
virtuous girl. Her mother answered it in 
the name of the little society, desiring her to 
remain or return as she thought proper ; and 



184 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

assuring her that happiness had left their 
dwelling since her departure, and that, for 
herself, she was inconsolable. 

i( Paul also sent her a very long letter, in 
which he assured her that he would arrange 
the garden in a manner agreeable to her 
taste, and mingle together in it the plants of 
Europe with those of Africa, as she had 
blended their initials together in her work. 
He sent her some fruit from the cocoa trees 
of the fountain, now arrived at maturity; 
telling her, that he would not add any of the 
other productions of the island, that the de- 
sire of seeing them again might hasten her 
return. He conjured her to comply as soon 
as possible with the ardent wishes of her 
family, and above all, with his own, since he 
could never hereafter taste happiness away 
from her. 

" Paul sowed with a careful hand the Euro- 
pean seeds, particularly the violet and scabi- 
ous, the flowers of which seemed to bear 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 185 

some analogy to the character and present 
situation of Virginia, by whom they had 
been so especially recommended ; but either 
they were dried up in the voyage, or the cli- 
mate of this part of the world is unfavorable 
to their growth, for a very small number of 
them even came up, and not one arrived at 
full perfection. 

" In the meantime, envy, which ever comes 
to embitter human happiness, particularly in 
the French colonies, spread some reports in 
the island which gave Paul much uneasiness. 
The passengers in the vessel which brought 
Virginia's letter asserted that she was upon 
the point of being married, and named the 
nobleman of the court to whom she was en- 
gaged. Some even went so far as to declare 
that the union had already taken place, and 
that they themselves had witnessed the cere- 
mony. Paul at first despised the report, 
brought by a merchant vessel, as he knew 
often spread erroneous intelligence 



186 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

in their passage; but some of the inhabitants 
of the island, with malignant pity, affecting 
to bewail the event, he was soon led to attach 
some degree of belief to this cruel intelli- 
gence. Besides, in some of the novels he 
had lately read, he had seen that perfidy was 
treated as a subject of pleasantry; and know- 
ing that these books contained pretty faithful 
representations of European manners, he 
feared that the heart of Virginia was cor- 
rupted, and had forgotten its former engage- 
ments. Thus his new acquirements had 
already only served to render him more 
miserable ; and his apprehensions were much 
increased by the circumstance, that though 
several ships touched here from Europe, 
within the six months immediately follow- 
ing the arrival of her letter, not one of them 
brought any tidings of Virginia. 

"This unfortunate young man, with a 
heart torn by the most cruel agitation, often 
came to visit me, in the hope of confirming 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 187 

or banishing his uneasiness, by my experi- 
ence of the world. 

" I live, as I have already told you, a league 
and a half from this point, upon the banks of 
a little river which glides along the Sloping 
Mountain : there I lead a solitary life, without 
wife, children, or slaves. 

" After having enjoyed, and lost, the rare 
felicity of living with a congenial mind, the 
state of life which appears the least wretched 
is doubtless that of solitude. Every man who 
has much cause of complaint against his fel- 
low creatures seeks to be alone. It is also 
remarkable that all those nations which have 
been brought to wretchedness by their opin- 
ions, their manners, or their forms of govern- 
ment, have produced numerous classes of 
citizens altogether devoted to solitude and 
celibacy. Such were the Egyptians in their 
decline, and the Greeks of the Lower Em- 
pire ; and such in our days are the Indians, 
the Chinese, the Modern Greeks, the Italians, 






iSS PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

and the greater part of the eastern and south- 
ern nations of Europe. Solitude, by remov- 
ing men from the miseries which follow in 
the train of social intercourse, brings them 
in some degree back to the unsophisticated 
enjoyment of nature. In the midst of mod- 
ern society, broken up by innumerable preju- 
dices, the mind is in a constant turmoil of 
agitation. It is incessantly revolving in 
itself a thousand tumultuous and contradic- 
torv opinions, bv which the members of an 
ambitious and miserable circle seek to raise 
themselves above each other. But in soli- 
tude the soul lays aside the morbid illusions 
which troubled her, and resumes the pure 
consciousness cf herself, of nature, and of 
its Author, as the muddy water of a torrent 
which has ravaged the plains, coming to rest, 
and diffusing itself over some low grounds 
out of its course, deposits there the slime it 
has taken up, and, resuming its wonted trans- 
parency, reflects, with its own shores, the 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 189 

verdure of the earth and the light of heaven. 
Thus does solitude recruit the powers of the 
body as well as those of the mind. It is 
among hermits that are found the men who 
carry human existence to its extreme limits : 
such are the Brahmins of India. In brief, I 
consider solitude so necessary to happiness, 
even in the world itself, that it appears to me 
impossible to derive lasting pleasure from 
any pursuit whatever, or to regulate our con- 
duct by any stable principle, if we do not 
create for ourselves a mental void, whence 
our own views rarely emerge, and into which 
the opinions of others never enter. I do 
not mean to say that man ought to live abso- 
lutely alone : he is connected by his necessi- 
ties with all mankind ; his labors are due to 
man ; and he owes something too to the rest 
of nature. But, as God has given to each of 
us organs perfectly adapted to the elements 
of the globe on which we live, — feet for the 
soil, lungs for the air, eyes for the light, with- 



190 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

out the power of changing the use of any of 
these faculties, He has reserved for Himself, 
as the Author of life, that which is its chief 
organ, the heart. 

" I thus passed my days far from man- 
kind, whom I wished to serve, and by whom 
I have been persecuted. After having trav- 
elled over many countries of Europe, and 
some parts of America and Africa, I at 
length pitched my tent in this thinly-peo 
pled island, allured by its mild climate and 
its solitudes. A cottage which I built in 
the woods, at the foot of a tree, a little field 
which I cleared with my own hands, a river 
which glides before my door, suffice for my 
wants and for my pleasures. I blend with 
these enjoyments the perusal of some chosen 
books, which teach me to become better. 
They make that world, w T hich I have aban- 
doned, still contribute something to my hap- 
piness. They lay before me pictures of those 
passions which render its inhabitants so 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 191 

miserable ; and in the comparison I am thus 
led to make between their lot and my own, I 
feel a kind of negative enjoyment. Like a 
man saved from shipwreck, and thrown upon 
a rock, I contemplate, from my solitude, the 
storms which rage through the rest of the 
world ; and my repose seems more profound 
from the distant sound of the tempest. As 
men have ceased to fall in my way, I no 
longer view them with aversion : I only pity 
them. If I sometimes fall in with an unfor- 
tunate being, I try to help him by my coun- 
sels, as a passer-by on the brink of a torrent 
extends his hand to save a wretch from 
drowning. But I have hardly ever found any 
but the innocent attentive to my voice. 
Nature calls the majority of men to her in 
vain. Each of them forms an image of her 
for himself, and invests her with his own 
passions. He pursues during the whole of 
his life this vain phantom, which leads him 
astray; and he afterwards complains to 



192 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

Heaven of the misfortunes which he has 
thus created for himself. Among the many 
children of misfortune whom I have endeav- 
ored to lead back to the enjoyments of na- 
ture, I have not found one but what \fas 
intoxicated with his own miseries. They 
have listened to me at first with attention, 
in the hope that I could teach them how to 
acquire glory or fortune ; but when they 
found that I only wished to instruct them 
how to dispense with these chimeras, their 
attention has been converted into pity, be- 
cause I did not prize their miserable happi- 
ness. They blamed my solitary life : they 
alleged that they alone were useful to men, 
and they endeavored to draw me into their 
vortex. But if I communicate with all, I lay 
myself open to none. It is often sufficient 
for me to serve as a lesson to myself. In 
my present tranquillity, I pass in review the 
agitating pursuits of my past life, to which I 
formerly attached so much value, — patronage, 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 193 

fortune, reputation, pleasure, and the opin- 
ions which are ever at strife over all the 
earth. I compare the men whom I have 
seen disputing furiously over these vanities, 
aifti who are no more, to the tiny waves of 
my rivulet, which break in foam against its 
rocky bed, and disappear, never to return. 
As for me, I suffer myself to float calmly 
down the stream of time to the shoreless 
ocean of futurity ; while, in the contempla- 
tion of the present harmony of nature, I 
elevate my soul towards its supreme Author, 
and hope for a more happy lot in another 
state of existence. 

" Although you cannot descry from my 
hermitage, situated in the midst of a forest, 
that immense variety of objects which this 
elevated spot presents, the grounds are dis- 
posed with peculiar beauty, at least to one 
who, like me, prefers the seclusion of a home 
scene to great and extensive prospects. The 
river which glides before my door passes in 
13 



194 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

a straight line across the woods, looking like 
a long canal shaded by all kinds of trees. 
Among them are the gum tree, the ebony- 
tree, and that which is here called bois de 
pomme, with olive and cinnamon-wood trees; 
while in some parts the cabbage-palm trees 
raise their naked stems more than a hundred 
feet high, their summits crowned with a clus- 
ter of leaves, and towering above the woods 
like one forest piled upon another. Lianas, 
of various foliage, intertwining themselves 
among the trees, form, here, arcades of foli- 
age, there, long canopies of verdure. Most of 
these trees shed aromatic odors so powerful, 
that the garments of a traveller, who has 
passed through the forest, often retain for 
hours the most delicious fragrance. In the 
season when they produce their lavish blos- 
soms, they appear as if half-covered with 
snow. Towards the end of summer, various 
kinds of foreign birds hasten, impelled by 
some inexplicable instinct, from unknown 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 195 

regions on the other side of immense oceans, 
to feed upon the grain and other vegetable 
productions of the island; and the brilliancy 
of their plumage forms a striking contrast 
to the more sombre tints of the foliage, em- 
browned by the sun. Among these are vari- 
ous kinds of parroquets, and the blue pigeon, 
called here the pigeon of Holland. Mon- 
keys, the domestic inhabitants of our forests, 
sport upon the dark branches of the trees, 
from which they are easily distinguished by 
their grey and greenish skin, and their black 
visages. Some hang, suspended by the tail, 
and swing themselves in air; others leap 
from branch to branch, bearing their young 
in their arms. The murderous gun has 
never affrighted these peaceful children of 
nature. You hear nothing but sounds of 
joy, — the warblings and unknown notes of 
birds from the countries of the south, 
repeated from a distance by the echoes of 
the forest. The river, which pours, in 



196 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

foaming eddies, over a bed of rocks, 
through the midst of the woods, reflects 
here and there upon its limpid waters their 
venerable masses of verdure and of shade, 
along with the sports of their happy inhabi- 
tants. About a thousand paces from thence 
it forms several cascades, clear as crystal in 
their fall, but broken at the bottom into 
frothy surges. Innumerable contused sounds 
issue from these watery tumults, which, borne 
by the winds across the forest, now sink in 
distance, now all at once swell out, booming 
on the ear like the bells of a cathedral. The 
air, kept ever in motion by the running 
water, preserves upon the banks of the 
river, amid all the summer heats, a fresh- 
ness and verdure rarely found in this island, 
even on the summits of the mountains. 

"At some distance from this place is a 
rock, placed far enough from the cascade to 
prevent the ear from being deafened with 
the noise of its waters, and sufficiently near 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 197 

for the enjoyment of seeing it, of feeling its 
coolness and hearing its gentle murmurs. 
Thither, amidst the heats of summer, Ma- 
dame de la Tour, Margaret, Virginia, Paul, 
and myself, sometimes repaired, to dine 
beneath the shadow of this rock. Virginia, 
who always, in her most ordinary actions, 
was mindful of the good of others, never ate 
of any fruit in the fields without planting 
the seed or kernel in the ground. ' From 
this/ said she, ' trees will come, which will 
yield their fruit to some traveller, or at least 
to some bird/ One day, having eaten of 
the papaw fruit at the foot of that rock, she 
planted the seeds on the spot. Soon after, 
several papaw trees sprang up, among which 
was one with female blossoms, that is to say, 
a fruit-bearing tree. This tree, at the time 
of Virginia's departure, was scarcely as high 
as her knee ; but, as it is a plant of rapid 
growth, in the course of two years it had 
gained the height of twenty feet, and the 



198 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

upper part of its stem was encircled by seve- 
ral rows of ripe fruit. Paul, wandering acci- 
dentally to the spot, was struck with delight 
at seeing this lofty tree, which had been 
planted by his beloved ; but the emotion 
was transient, and instantly gave place to a 
deep melancholy, at this evidence of her long 
absence. The objects which are habitually 
before us do not bring to our minds an ade- 
quate idea of the rapidity of life ; they de- 
cline insensibly with ourselves : but it is 
those we behold again, after having for some 
years lost sight of them, that most power- 
fully impress us with a feeling of the swift- 
ness with which the tide of life flows on. 
Paul w r as no less overwhelmed and affected 
at the sight of this great papaw tree, loaded 
with fruit, than is the traveller when, after a 
long absence from his own country, he finds 
his contemporaries no more, but their chil- 
dren, whom he left at the breast, themselves 
now become fathers of families. Paul some- 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 199 

times thought of cutting down the tree, 
which recalled too sensibly the distracting 
remembrance of Virginia's prolonged ab- 
sence. At other times, contemplating it as 
a monument of her benevolence, he kissed 
its trunk, and apostrophised it in terms of 
the most passionate regret. Indeed, I have 
myself gazed upon it with more emotion and 
more veneration than upon the triumphal 
arches of Rome. May nature, which every 
day destroys the monuments of kingly ambi- 
tion, multiply in our forests those which 
testify the beneficence of a poor young girl ! 
"At the foot of this papaw tree I was 
always sure to meet with Paul when he came 
into our neighborhood. One day, I found 
him there absorbed and melancholy, and a 
conversation took place between us, which I 
will relate to you, if I do not weary you too 
much by my long digressions ; they are per- 
haps pardonable to my age and to my last 
friendships. I will relate it to you in the 



200 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

form of a dialogue, that you may form some 
idea of the natural good sense of this young 
man. You will easily distinguish the speak- 
ers, from the character of his questions and 
of my answers. 

PAUL. 

"'I am very unhappy. Mademoiselle de 
la Tour has now been gone two years and 
eight months, and we have heard no tidings 
of her for eight months and a half. She is 
rich and I am poor : she has forgotten me. 
I have a great mind to follow her. I will go 
to France ; I will serve the king ; I will 
make my fortune ; and then Mademoiselle 
de la Tour's aunt will bestow her niece upon 
me when I shall have become a great lord.' 

THE OLD MAN. 

"'But, my dear friend, have not you told 
me that you are not of noble birth?' 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 201 

PAUL. 

"'My mother has told me so; but, as for 
myself, I know not what noble birth means. 
I never perceived that I had less than others, 
or that others had more than 1/ 

THE OLD MAN. 

" ' Obscure birth, in France, shuts every 
door of access to great employments ; nor 
can you even be received among any distin- 
guished body of men, if you labor under this 
disadvantage/ 

PAUL. 

" 'You have often told me that it was one 
source of the greatness of France that her 
humblest subject might attain the highest 
honors ; and you have cited to me many 
instances of celebrated men, who, born in a 
mean condition, had conferred honor upon 
their country. It was your wish, then, by 
concealing the truth, to stimulate my ardor?' 



202 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

THE OLD MAN. 

"'Never, my son, would I lower it. I told 
you the truth with regard to the past ; but 
now, everything has undergone a great 
change. Everything in France is now to be 
obtained by interest alone ; every place and 
employment is now become as it were the 
patrimony of a small number of families, or 
is divided among public bodies. The king 
is a sun, and the nobles and great corporate 
bodies surround him like so many clouds : it 
is almost impossible for any of his rays to 
reach you. Formerly, under less exclusive 
administrations, such phenomena have been 
seen. Then talents and merit showed them- 
selves everywhere, as newly cleared lands 
are always loaded with abundance. But 
great kings, who can really form a just esti- 
mate of men, and choose them with judg- 
ment, are rare. The ordinary race of mon- 
archs allow themselves to be guided by the 
nobles and people who surround them/ 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 203 

PAUL. 

" ' But perhaps I shall find one of these 
nobles to protect me.' 

THE OLD MAN. 

" * To gain the protection of the great, you 
must lend yourself to their ambition, and 
administer to their pleasures. You would 
never succeed ; for, in addition to your ob- 
scure birth, you have too much integrity/ 

PAUL. 

" * But I will perform such courageous ac- 
tions, I will be so faithful to my word, so 
exact in the performance of my duties, so 
zealous and so constant in my friendships, 
that I will render myself worthy to be 
adopted by some one of them. In the 
ancient histories you have made me read, 
I have seen many examples of such adop- 
tions/ 



::i PAUL AXD VIRGIXIA* 

THE OLD MAN. 

" ' Oh, mv vouns; friend! amons: the 
Greeks and Romans, even in their decline, 
the nobles had some respect for virtue ; but 
out of all the immense number of men. 
sprung from the mass of the people in 
France, who have signalized themselves in 
every possible manner, I do not recollect a 
single instance of one being adopted by 
any great family. If it were not for our 
kin^rs, virtue, in our country, would be eter- 
nally condemned as plebeian. As I said be- 
fore, the monarch sometimes, when he per- 
ceives it, renders to it due honor ; but in the 
present day, the distinctions which should be 
bestowed on merit are generally to be ob- 
tained by money alone.' 



PAUL. 

"'If I cannot find a nobleman to adopt 
me, I will seek to please some public body, 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 205 



I will espouse its interests and its opinions 
I will make myself beloved by it/ 



THE OLD MAN. 



" 'You will act then like other men ? — you 
will renounce your conscience to obtain a 
fortune ? ' 



PAUL. 

" ■ Oh, no ! I will never lend myself to 
anything but the truth/ 

THE OLD MAN. 

" ' Instead of making yourself beloved, 
you would become an object of dislike. Be- 
sides, public bodies have never taken much 
interest in the discovery of truth. All opin- 
ions are nearly alike to ambitious men, pro- 
vided only that they themselves can gain 
their ends.'* 

PAUL. 

" ' How unfortunate I am ! Everything 



206 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

bars my progress. I am condemned to pass 
my life in ignoble toil, far from Virginia ! ' 
As he said this, he sighed deeply. 

THE OLD MAN. 

" ' Let God be your patron, and mankind 
the public body you would serve. Be con- 
stantly attached to them both. Families, 
corporations, nations, and kings have, all of 
them, their prejudices and their passions; 
it is often necessary to serve them by the 
practice of vice ; God and mankind at large 
require only the exercise of the virtues. 

" ' But why do you wish to be distinguished 
from other men ? It is hardly a natural sen- 
timent, for, if all men possessed it, every one 
would be at constant strife with his neigh- 
bor. Be satisfied with fulfilling your duty 
in the station in which Providence has placed 
you : be grateful for your lot, which permits 
you to enjoy the blessing of a quiet con- 
science, and which does not compel you, like 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 207 

the great, to let your happiness rest on the 
opinion of the little, or, like the little, to 
cringe to the great, in order to obtain the 
means of existence. You are now placed in 
a country and a condition in which you are 
not reduced to deceive or flatter any one, or 
to debase yourself, as the greater part of 
those who seek their fortune in Europe are 
obliged to do : in which the exercise of no 
virtue is forbidden you ; in which you may 
be, with impunity, good, sincere, well-in- 
formed, patient, temperate, chaste, indulgent 
to others' faults, pious, and no shaft of ridi- 
cule be aimed at you to destroy your wisdom, 
as yet only in its bud. Heaven has given 
you liberty, health, a good conscience, and 
friends ; kings themselves, whose favor you 
desire, are not so happy.' 

PAUL. 

" ' Ah ! I want only to have Virginia with 
me : without her I have nothing, — with her, 



208 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

I should possess all my desire. She alone is 
to me birth, glory, and fortune. But, since 
her relation will only give her to some one 
with a great name, I will study. By the aid 
of study and of books, learning and celebrity 
are to be attained. I will become a man of 
science : I will render my knowledge useful 
to the service of my country, without injur- 
ing any one, or owning dependence on any 
one. I will become celebrated, and my glory 
shall be achieved only by myself/ 

THE OLD MAN. 

" ' My son, talents are a gift yet more rare 
than either birth or riches, and undoubtedly 
they are a greater good than either, since 
they can never be taken away from us, and 
that they obtain for us everywhere public 
esteem. But they may be said to be worth 
all that they cost us. They are seldom ac- 
quired but by every species of privation, 
by the possession of exquisite sensibility, 



FAUL AND VIRGINIA. 209 

which often produces inward unhappiness, 
and which exposes us without to the malice 
and persecutions of our contemporaries. The 
lawyer envies not, in France, the glory of the 
soldier, nor does the soldier envy that of the 
naval officer; but they will all oppose you, 
and bar your progress to distinction, because 
your assumption of superior ability will 
wound the self-love of them all. You say 
that you will do good to men ; but recollect, 
that he who makes the earth produce a single 
ear of corn more, renders them a greater 
service than he who writes a book.' 

PAUL. 

" l Oh ! she, then, who planted this papaw 
tree, has made a more useful and more grate- 
ful present to the inhabitants of these forests 
than if she had given them a whole library.' 
So saying, he threw his arms round the tree, 
and kissed it with transport. 



210 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

THE OLD MAN. 

" ' The best of books, — that which preaches 
nothing but equality, brotherly love, charity, 
and peace, — the Gospel, has served as a pre- 
text, during many centuries, for Europeans 
to let loose all their fury. How many tyran- 
nies, both public and private, are still prac- 
tised in its name on the face of the earth ! 
After this, who will dare to flatter himself 
that anything he can write will be of service 
to his fellow men ? Remember the fate of 
most of the philosophers who have preached 
to them wisdom. Homer, who clothed it in 
such noble verse, asked for alms all his life. 
Socrates, whose conversation and example 
gave such admirable lessons to the Atheni- 
ans, was sentenced by them to be poisoned. 
His sublime disciple, Plato, was delivered 
over to slavery by the order of the very 
prince who protected him ; and, before them, 
Pythagoras, whose humanity extended even 
to animals, was burned alive by the Crotoni- 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 211 

ates. What do I say ? — many even of these 
illustrious names have descended to us dis- 
figured by some traits of satire by which 
they became characterized, human ingrati- 
tude taking pleasure in thus recognizing 
them ; and if, in the crowd, the glory of 
some names is come down to us without 
spot or blemish, we shall find that they who 
have borne them have lived far from the 
society of their contemporaries ; like those 
statues which are found entire beneath the 
soil in Greece and Italy, and which, by being 
hidden in the bosom of the earth, have es- 
caped, uninjured, from the fury of the bar- 
barians. 

"'You see, then, that to acquire the glory 
which a turbulent literary career can give 
you, you must not only be virtuous, but 
ready, if necessary, to sacrifice life itself. 
But, after all, do not fancy that the great in 
France trouble themselves about such glory 
as this. Little do they care for literary men, 



212 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

whose knowledge brings them neither honors, 
nor power, nor even admission at court. Per- 
secution, it is true, is rarely practised in this 
age, because it is habitually indifferent to 
everything except wealth and luxury; but 
knowledge and virtue no longer lead to dis- 
tinction, since everything in the state is to 
be purchased with money. Formerly, men 
of letters were certain of reward by some 
place in the church, the magistracy, or the 
administration : now, they are considered 
good for nothing but to write books. But 
this fruit of their minds, little valued by the 
world at large, is still worthy of its celestial 
origin. For these books is reserved the priv- 
ilege of shedding lustre on obscure virtue, of 
consoling the unhappy, of enlightening na- 
tions, and of telling the truth even to kings. 
This is, unquestionably, the most august 
commission with which Heaven can honor a 
mortal upon this earth. Where is the author 
who would not be consoled for the injustice 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 213 

or contempt of those who are the dispensers 
of the ordinary gifts of fortune, when he 
reflects that his work may pass from age to 
age, from nation to nation, opposing a bar- 
rier to error and to tyranny; and that, from 
amidst the obscurity in which he has lived, 
there will shine forth a glory which will efface 
that of the common herd of monarchs, the 
monuments of whose deeds perish in oblivion, 
notwithstanding the flatterers who erect and 
magnify them.' 

PAUL. 

"'Ah! I am only covetous of glory to 
bestow it on Virginia, and render her dear 
to the whole world. But can you, who know 
so much, tell me whether we shall ever be 
married ? I should like to be a very learned 
man, if only for the sake of knowing what 
will come to pass.' 

THE OLD MAN. 

" ' Who would live, my son, if the future 



214 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

were revealed to him ? — when a single antici- 
pated misfortune gives us so much useless 
uneasiness — when the foreknowledge of one 
certain calamity is enough to embitter every 
day that precedes it ! It is better not to pry 
too curiously, even into the things which sur- 
round us. Heaven, which has given us the 
power of reflection to foresee our necessities, 
gave us also those very necessities to set 
limits to its exercise.' 

PAUL. 

" i You tell me that with money people in 
Europe acquire dignities and honors. I will 
go, then, to enrich myself in Bengal, and 
afterwards proceed to Paris, and marry Vir- 
ginia. I will embark at once/ 

THE OLD MAN. 

" ' What ! would you leave her mother and 
yours ? ' 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 215 

PAUL. 

" ' Why, you yourself have advised my 
going to the Indies.' 

THE OLD MAN. 

" ' Virginia was then here ; but you are 
now the only means of support both of her 
mother and of your own/ 

PAUL, 

" ' Virginia will assist them, by means of 
her rich ■relation/ 

THE OLD MAN. 

" ' The rich care little for those from whom 
no honor is reflected upon themselves in the 
world. Many of them have relations much 
more to be pitied than Madame de la Tour, 
who, for want of their assistance, sacrifice 
their liberty for bread, and pass their lives 
immured within the walls of a convent/ 



216 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 



PAUL. 



" ' Oh, what a country is Europe ! Virginia 
must come back here. What need has she 
of a rich relation ? She was so happy in 
these huts ; she looked so beautiful and so 
well-dressed with a red handkerchief or a few 
flowers round her head ! Return, Virginia ! 
leave your sumptuous mansions and your 
grandeur, and come back to these rocks, — to 
the shade of these woods and of our cocoa 
trees. Alas ! you are perhaps even now un- 
happy ! ' — and he began to shed tears. i My 
father/ continued he, 'hide nothing from 
me : if you cannot tell me whether I shall 
marry Virginia, tell me at least if she loves 
me still, surrounded as she is by noblemen 
who speak to the king, and who go to see 
her/ 

THE OLD MAN. 

" ' Oh, my dear friend ! I am sure, for 
many reasons, that she loves you ; but above 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 217 

all, because she is virtuous/ At these words 
he threw himself on my neck in a transport 
of joy. 

PAUL. 

" ' But do you think that the women of 
Europe are false, as they are represented in 
the comedies and books which you have 
lent me ? ' 

THE OLD MAN. 

"'Women are false in those countries 
where men are tyrants. Violence always 
engenders a disposition to deceive/ 

PAUL, 

" i In what way can men tyrannize over 
women ? ' 

THE OLD MAN. 

" ' In giving them in marriage without 
consulting their inclinations ; — in uniting a 
young girl to an old man, or a woman of 



218 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

sensibility to a frigid and indifferent hus- 
band.' 

PAUL. 

"'Why not join together those who are 
suited to each other, — the young to the 
young, and lovers to those they love ? ' 

THE OLD MAN. 

" ' Because few young men in France have 
property enough to support them when they 
are married, and cannot acquire it till the 
greater part of their life is passed. While 
young, they seduce the wives of others, and 
when they are old, they cannot secure the 
affections of their own. At first, they them- 
selves are deceivers; and afterwards, they 
are deceived in their turn. This is one of 
the re-actions of that eternal justice, by 
which the world is governed : an excess on 
one side is sure to be balanced by one on the 
other. Thus, the greater part of Europeans 
pass their lives in this twofold irregularity, 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 219 

which increases everywhere, in the same 
proportion that wealth is accumulated in the 
hands of a few individuals. Society is like 
a garden, where shrubs cannot grow if they 
are overshadowed by lofty trees : but there 
is this wide difference between them, — that 
the beauty of a garden may result from the 
admixture of a small number of forest trees, 
while the prosperity of a state depends on 
the multitude and equality of its citizens, 
and not on a small number of very rich 
men.' 

PAUL. 

" ' But where is the necessity for being 
rich in order to marry ? ' 

THE OLD MAN. 

" ' In order to pass through life in abund- 
ance, without being obliged to work/ 

PAUL. 

"'But why not work? I am sure I work 
hard enough/ 



PAUL AXD VIEGIXIA. 



THE OLD MAN. 



" ' In Europe, working with your hands is 
considered a degradation : it is compared to 
the labor performed by a machine. The 
occupation of cultivating the earth is the 
most despised of all. Even an artisan is 
held in more estimation than a peasant.' 

PAUL. 

"'What ! do you mean to say that the art 
which furnishes food for mankind is despised 
in Europe ? I hardly understand you/ 

THE OLD MAX. 

"'Oh! it is impossible for a person edu- 
cated according to nature to form an idea of 
the depraved state of society. It is easy to 
form a precise notion of order, but not of 
disorder. Beauty, virtue, happiness, have all 
their defined proportions : deformity, vice, 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 221 

PAUL. 

"'The rich then are always very happy! 
They meet with no obstacles to the fulfilment 
of their wishes, and they can lavish happi- 
ness on those whom they love.' 

THE OLD MAN. 

" 'Far from it, my son ! They are, for the 
most part, satiated with pleasure, for this 
very reason, — that it costs them no trouble. 
Have you never yourself experienced how 
much the pleasure of repose is increased by 
fatigue ; that of eating, by hunger ; or that of 
drinking, by thirst ? The pleasure also of 
loving and being beloved is only to be ac- 
quired by innumerable privations and sacri- 
fices. Wealth, by anticipating all their neces- 
sities, deprives its possessors of all these 
pleasures. To this ennui, consequent upon 
satiety, may also be added the pride which 
springs from their opulence, and which is 
wounded by the most trifling privation, when 



222 PAUL AND VIRGIXIA. 

the greatest enjoyments have ceased to 
charm. The perfume of a thousand roses 
gives pleasure but for a moment ; but the 
pain occasioned by a single thorn endures 
long after the infliction of the wound. A 
single evil in the midst of their pleasures is 
to the rich like a thorn among flowers; to 
the poor, on the contrary, one pleasure 
amidst all their troubles is a flower among 
a wilderness of thorns ; they have a most 
lively enjoyment of it. The effect of every- 
thing is increased by contrast; nature has 
balanced all things. Which condition, after 
all, do you consider preferable, — to have 
scarcely anything to hope and everything to 
fear, or to have everything to hope and noth- 
ing to fear ? The former condition is that of 
the rich, the latter, that of the poor. But 
either of these extremes is with difficulty 
supported by man, whose happiness consists 
in a middle station of life, in union with 
virtue/ 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 223 

PAUL. 

u * What do you understand by virtue V 

THE OLD MAN. 

" ' To you, my son, who support your 
family by your labor, it need hardly be de- 
fined. Virtue consists in endeavoring to do 
all the good we can to others, with an ulti- 
mate intention of pleasing God alone/ 

PAUL. 

" ' Oh ! how virtuous, then, is Virginia ! 
Virtue led her to seek for riches that she 
might practice benevolence. Virtue induced 
her to quit this island, and virtue will bring 
her back to it.'. 

" The idea of her speedy return firing the 
imagination of this young man, all his anxie- 
ties suddenly vanished. Virginia, he was 
persuaded, had not written, because she 
would soon arrive. It took so little time to 



224 PAUL AND VIRGIi 

come from Europe with a fair wind ! Then 
he enumerated the vessels which had made 
this passage of four thousand five hundred 
leagues in less than three months : ana per- 
haps the vessel in which Virginia had em- 
barked might not be more than two. Ship- 
builders were now so ingenious, and sailers 
were so expert! He then talked to me of 
the arrangements he intended to make for 
her reception, of the new house he would 
build for her, and of the pleasures and sur- 
prises which he would contrive for her every 
cay when she was his wife. Kis wife ! Tite 
idea filled him with ecstacy. 'At least, my 
dear father, said he, 'you shall then da do 
more work than you please. As Virginia 
will be rich, we shall have plenty of negroes, 
and they shall work for you. You shall 
always live with us, and have no other care 
than to amuse yourself and be happy ;' and, 
his heart throbbing with joy, he flew to :om- 
municate these exquisite anticipations to his 
familv. 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 225 

"In a short time, however, these enchant- 
ing hopes were succeeded by the most cruel 
apprehensions. It is always the effect of 
violent passions to throw the soul into oppo- 
site extremes. Paul returned the next day 
to my dwelling, overwhelmed with melan- 
choly, and said to me, — ' I hear nothing from 
Virginia. Had she left Europe, she would 
have written me word of her departure. Ah ! 
the reports which I have heard concerning 
her are but too well founded. Her aunt has 
married her to some great lord. She, like 
others, has been undone by the love of riches. 
In those books which paint women so well, 
virtue is treated but as a subject of romance. 
If Virginia had been virtuous, she would 
never have forsaken her mother and me. I 
do nothing but think of her, and she has for- 
gotten me. I am wretched, and she is divert- 
ing herself. The thought distracts me : I 

cannot bear myself ! Would to Heaven that 
J 5 



226 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 

war were declared in India ! I would go 
there and die/ 

" ' My son/ I answered, ' that courage 
which prompts us on to court death is but 
the courage of a moment, and is often ex- 
cited only by the vain applause of men, or 
by the hope of posthumous renown. There 
is another description of courage, rarer and 
more necessary, which enables us to support, 
without witness and without applause, the 
vexations of life : this virtue is patience. 
Relying for support, not upon the opinions 
of others, or upon the impulse of the pas- 
sions, but upon the will of God, patience is 
the courage of virtue/ 

" ' Ah ! ' cried he, ' I am then without vir- 
tue ! Everything overwhelms me and drives 
me to despair/ — ' Equal, constant, and inva- 
riable virtue/ I replied, 'belongs not to man. 
In the midst of the many passions which 
agitate us, our reason is disordered and 
obscured : but there is an ever-burning lamp, 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 227 

at which we can rekindle its flame; and that 
is, literature/ 

" ■ Literature, my dear son, is the gift of 
Heaven, — a ray of that wisdom by which the 
universe is governed, and which man, inspired 
by a celestial intelligence, has drawn down to 
earth. Like the rays of the sun, it enlight- 
ens us, it rejoices us, it warms us with a 
heavenly flame, and seems, in some sort, like 
the element of fire, to bend all nature to our 
use. By its means we are enabled to bring 
around us all things, all places, all men, and 

all times. It assists us to regulate our man- 
1 

ners and our life. By its aid, too, our pas- 
sions are calmed, vice is suppressed, and 
virtue encouraged by the memorable exam- 
ples of great and good men which it has 
handed down to us, and whose time-honored 
images it ever brings before our eyes. Lite- 
rature is a daughter of Heaven, who has 
descended upon earth to soften and to charm 
away all the evils of the human race. The 



228 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

greatest writers have ever appeared in the 
worst times. — in times in which society can 
hardly he held together, — the times of bar- 
barism and every species of depravity. My 
son, literature has consoled an infinite num- 
ber of men more unhappy than vcurself : 
Xenophon, banished from his country after 
having save;" to her ten th vusand of her sons ; 
Scipio Afrioanus, wearied to death by the 
calumnies of the Romans : Lucullus, tor- 
mented by their cabals : ana Catinat. by the 
ingratitude of a court. The Greeks, with 
their never-failing ingenuity, assigned to 
each of the Muses a portion of the great 
circle of human intelligence fcr her especial 
superintendence: we ought, in the same 
manner, to give up to them the regulation 
of our passions, to bring them under proper 
restraint. Literature, in this imaginative 
m;ise, would thus fulfil, in relation to the 
powers of the soul, the same functions as 
the Hours, who yoked and conducted the 
chariot of the Sun. 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 229 

" * Have recourse to your books, then, my 
son. The wise men who have written before 
our days are travellers who have preceded us 
in the paths of misfortune, and who stretch 
out a friendly hand towards us, and invite us 
to join their society, when we are abandoned 
by everything else. A good book is a good 
friend.' 

" ' Ah ! ' cried Paul, ' I stood in no need of 
books when Virginia w r as here, and she had 
studied as little as myself : but when she 
looked at me, and called me her friend, I 
could not feel unhappy/ 

" ' Undoubtedly/ said I, ' there is no friend 
so agreeable as a mistress by whom we are 
beloved. There is, moreover, in woman a 
liveliness and gayety, which powerfully tend 
to dissipate the melancholy feelings of man : 
her presence drives away the dark phantoms 
of imagination produced by over-reflection. 
Upon her countenance sit soft attraction and 
tender confidence. What joy is not height- 



230 PAUL AXD VIRGINIA, 

ened when it is shared by her? What brow 
is not unbent by her smiles ? What anger 
can resist her tears ? Virginia will return 
with more philosophy than you, and will be 
quite surprised to find the garden so unfin- 
ished: — she who could think of its embel- 
lishments in spite of all the persecutions of 
her aunt, and when far from her mother and 
from you.' 

"The idea of Virginia's speedy return re- 
animated the drooping spirits of her lover, 
and he resumed his rural occupations, happy 
amidst his toils, in the reflection that they 
would soon find a termination so dear to the 
wishes of his heart. 

" One morning, at break of day (it was 
the 24th of December, 1744), Paul, when he 
arose, perceived a white flag hoisted upon 
the Mountain of Discoverv. This flas; he 
knew r to be the signal of a vessel descried 
at sea. He instantly flew to the town to 
learn if this vessel brought any tidings of 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 231 

Virginia, and waited there till the return of 
the pilot, who was gone, according to custom, 
to board the ship. The pilot did not return 
till the evening, when he brought the gov- 
ernor information that the signalled vessel 
was the Saint-Geran, of seven hundred tons 
burthen, and commanded by a captain of 
the name of Aubin ; that she was now 7 four 
leagues out at sea, but w 7 ould probably anchor 
at Port Louis the following afternoon, if the 
wind became fair : at present there w r as a 
calm. The pilot then handed to the governor 
a number of letters w T hich the Saint-Geran 
had brought from France, among which was 
one addressed to Madame de la Tour, in the 
handwriting of Virginia. Paul seized upon 
the letter, kissed it with transport, and, 
placing it in his bosom, flew to the planta- 
tion. Xo sooner did he perceive from a 
distance the family, who were awaiting his 
return upon the Rock of Adieus, than he 
waved the letter aloft in the air, without 



232 PAUL AXD VIRGINIA. 

being able to utter a word. No sooner was 
the seal broken, than they all crowded round 
Madame de la Tour, to hear the letter read. 
Virginia informed her mother that she had 
experienced much ill-usage from her aunt, 
who, after having in vain urged her to a mar- 
riage against her inclination, had disinherited 
her, and had sent her back at a time when 
she would probably reach the Mauritius dur- 
ing the hurricane season. In vain, she added, 
had she endeavored to soften her aunt, by 
representing what she owed to her mother, 
and to her early habits : she was treated as 
a romantic girl, whose head had been turned 
by novels. She could now only think of the 
joy of as;ain seeing and embracing her be- 
loved family, and would have gratified her 
ardent desire at once, by landing in the 
pilot's boat, if the captain had allowed her; 
but that he had objected, on account of the 
distance, and of a heavy swell, which, not- 
withstanding the calm, reigned in the open 
sea. 



PAUL AXD VIRGINIA. 233 

"As soon as this letter was finished, the 
whole of the family, transported with joy, 
repeatedly exclaimed, 'Virginia is arrived!' 
and mistresses and servants embraced each 
other. Madame de la Tour said to Paul, — 
1 My son, go and inform our neighbor of 
Virginia's arrival/ Domingo immediately 
lighted a torch of bois de ronde, and he and 
Paul bent their way towards my dwelling. 

" It was about ten o'clock at night, and I 
was just going to extinguish my lamp, and 
retire to rest, when I perceived, through the 
palisades round my cottage, a light in the 
woods. Soon after, I heard the voice of 
Paul calling me. I instantly arose, and had 
hardly dressed myself, when Paul, almost 
beside himself, and panting for breath, 
sprang on my neck, crying, — 'Come along, 
come along. Virginia is arrived. Let us go 
to the port : the vessel will anchor at break 
of day.' 

" Scarcely had he uttered the words, when 



234 PAUL AXD VIRGINIA. 

we set off. As we were passing through the 
woods of the Sloping Mountain, and were 

already on the road which leads from the 
Shaddock Grove to the port, I heard some 
one walking behind us. It proved to be a 
negro, and he was advancing with hasty 
steps. When he had reached us, I asked 
him whence he came, and whither he was 
going with such expedition. He answered, — 
( I come from that part of the island called 
Golden Dust ; and am sent to the port to 
inform the governor that a ship from France 
has anchored under the isle of Amber. She 
is firing guns of distress, for the sea is very 
rough.' Having said this, the man left us, 
and pursued his journey without further 
delay. 

" I then said to Paul, — c Let us go towards 
the quarter of the Golden Dust, and meet 
Virginia there. It is not more than three 
leagues from hence.' We accordingly bent 
our course towards the northern part of the 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 235 

island. The heat was suffocating. The 
moon had risen, and was surrounded by 
three large black circles. A frightful dark- 
ness shrouded the sky; but the frequent 
flashes of lightning discovered to us long 
rows of thick and gloomy clouds, hanging 
very low, and heaped together over the 
centre of the island, being driven in with 
great rapidity from the ocean, although not 
a breath of air was perceptible upon the land. 
As we walked along, we thought we heard 
peals of thunder; but, on listening more 
attentively, we perceived that it was the 
sound of cannon at a distance, repeated by 
the echoes. These ominous sounds, joined 
to the tempestuous aspect of the heavens, 
made me shudder. I had little doubt of 
their being signals of distress from a ship in 
danger. In about half an hour the firing 
ceased, and I found the silence still more 
appalling than the dismal sounds which had 
preceded it. 



2 ' z o PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

"We hastened ::: without uttering a w~rd, 
or daring to communicate to each other :ur 
mutual apprehensions. At midnight, by 
great exertion, we arrived at the sea sh:re, 
in that part of the island called Golden Irs:. 

the strand with f:am :: a dazzling whiteness, 
blended with so arks of dire. By these phos- 
phoric gleams we distinguished, nctwith- 

" At the entrance of a word, a sh:rt distance 
from us. we saw a dire, around which a party 

pairec thither, in order to res: rurselves till 

the currents ; that the night had hidden i: 

from his view; and that twc hours af:er sun- 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 237 

set he had heard the firing of signal guns of 
distress, but that the surf was so high, that 
it was impossible to launch a boat to go off 
to her; that a short time after, he thought 
he perceived the glimmering of the watch- 
lights on board the vessel, which, he feared, 
by its having approached so near the coast, 
had steered between the main land and the 
little island of Amber, mistaking the latter 
for the point of Endeavor, near which vessels 
pass in order to gain Port Louis ; and that, 
if this were the case, which, however, he 
would not take upon himself to be certain 
of, the ship, he thought, was in very great 
danger. Another islander then informed us, 
that he had frequently crossed the channel 
which separates the isle of Amber from the 
coast, and had sounded it; that the anchor- 
age was very good, and that the ship would 
there lie as safely as in the best harbor. ' I 
would stake all I am worth upon it/ said he, 
'and if I were on board, I should sleep as 



::3 PAUL A::D VIRGINIA. 

sound as on shore/ A third bystander de- 
clared that it was impossible for the ship to 
enter that channel, which was scarcely navi- 
gable for a beat. He was certain, he sale, 
that he had seen the vessel at anchor beyond 
the isle of Amber; so that, if the wind arise 
in the morning, she could either put to sea, 
or gain the harbor. Other inhabitants gave 
different opinions upon this subject, which 
they continued to discuss in the usual desul- 
tory manner of the indolent Creoles. Paul 
and I observed a profound silence. We re- 
mained on this spot till break of day, but 
the weather was too hazy to admit of our 
distinguishing any object at sea, everything 
heme; covered with foe:. All we could 
descry to sea vara was a dark cloud, which 
they told us was the isle cf Amber, at the 
distance cf a quarter cf a league from the 
coast. On this gloomy day we could only 
discern the point of land on which we were 
standing, and the peaks of some inland 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 239 

mountains, which started out occasionally 
from the midst of the clouds that hung 
around them. 

" About seven o'clock in the morning we 
heard the sound of drums in the woods : it 
announced the approach of the governor, 
Monsieur de la Bourdonnais, who soon after 
arrived on horseback, at the head of a de- 
tachment of soldiers, armed with muskets, 
and a crowd of islanders and negroes. He 
drew up his soldiers upon the beach, and 
ordered them to make a general discharge. 
This was no sooner done, than we perceived 
a glimmering light upon the water, which 
was instantly followed by the report of a 
cannon. We judged that the ship was at no 
great distance, and all ran towards that part 
whence the light and sound proceeded. We 
now discerned through the fog the hull and 
yards of a large vessel. We were so near to 
her, that, notwithstanding the tumult of the 
waves we could distinctly hear the whistle 



240 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 

of the boatswain, and the shouts of the 
sailors, who cried out three times, vive le 
roi ! this being the cry of the French in 
extreme danger, as well as in exuberant joy ; 
— as though they wished to call their prince 
to their aid, or to testify to him that they 
are prepared to lay down their lives in his 
service. 

"As soon as the Saint-Geran perceived 
that we were near enough to render her 
assistance, she continued to fire guns regu- 
larly at intervals of three minutes. Mon- 
sieur de la Bourdonnais caused great fires to 
be lighted at certain distances upon the 
strand, and. sent to all the inhabitants of the 
neighborhood, in search of provisions, planks, 
cables, and empty barrels. A number of 
people soon arrived, accompanied by their 
negroes loaded with provisions and cordage, 
which they had brought from the plantations 
of Golden Dust, from the district of La 
Flaque, and from the river of the Rampart. 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 241 

One of the most aged of these planters ap- 
proaching the governor, said to him, — ' We 
have heard all night hollow noises in the 
mountain; in the woods, the leaves of the 
trees are shaken, although there is no wind ; 
the sea-birds seek refuge upon the land : it is 
certain that all these signs announce a hurri- 
cane. 'Well, my friends/ answered the 
governor, ' we are prepared for it, and no 
doubt the vessel is also/ 

" Every thing, indeed, presaged the near 
approach of the hurricane. The centre of 
the clouds in the zenith was of a dismal 
black, while their skirts were tinged with a 
copper-colored hue. The air resounded with 
the cries of tropic-birds, petrels, frigate-birds, 
and innumerable other sea-fowl, which, not- 
withstanding the obscurity of the atmos- 
phere, were seen coming from every point of 
the horizon, to seek for shelter in the island. 

" Towards nine in the morning we heard 

in the direction of the ocean the most terrific 
16 



2lz PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

noise, like the sound of thunder mingled 
with that cf torrents rushing down the steers 
of lofty m santams. A general cry was heard 



c-- ^ _ . 



which covered the isle :: Anther and 
its channel. The Saint-Geran then pre- 
sented herself to our view, her deck crowded 

down, and her nag half-mast high, ntoired by 
four cables at her how and one at her stern. 
She nod anchored between the isle of Anther 



which encircles the island, and which she 
had passed through in a place where nc ves- 



her head to the waves that rolled in frcm 
the open sea, and as each hihow rushed 
into the narrow strait where she lay. her 
bcw lifted to such a degree as t: show 
her keel; and at the same moment her 
stern, plunging into the water, disappeared 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 243 

altogether from our sight, as if it were 
swallowed up by the surges. In this posi- 
tion, driven by the wind and waves to- 
wards the shore, it was equally impossible 
for her to return by the passage through 
which she had made her way ; or, by cutting 
her cables, to strand herself upon the beach, 
from which she was separated by sandbanks 
and reefs of rocks. Every billow which 
broke upon the coast advanced roaring to 
the bottom of the bay, throwing up heaps of 
shingle to the distance of fifty feet upon the 
land ; then, rushing back, laid bare its sandy 
bed, from which it rolled immense stones, 
with a hoarse and dismal noise. The sea, 
swelled by the violence of the wind, rose 
higher every moment ; and the whole chan- 
nel between this island and the isle of Am- 
ber was soon one vast sheet of white foam, 
full of yawning pits of black and deep bil- 
lows. Heaps of this foam, more than six 
feet high, were piled up at the bottom of the 



244 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

bay ; and the winds which swept its surface 
carried masses of it over the steep sea-bank, 
scattering it upon the land to the distance of 
half a league. These innumerable white 
flakes, driven horizontally even to the very 
foot of the mountains, looked like snow issu- 
ing from the bosom of the ocean. The ap- 
pearance of the horizon portended a lasting 
tempest : the sky and the water seemed 
blended together. Thick masses of clouds, 
of a frightful form, swept across the zenith 
with the swiftness of birds, while others ap- 
peared motionless as rocks. Not a single 
spot of blue sky could be discerned in the 
whole firmament ; and a pale yellow gleam 
only lightened up all objects of the earth, 
the sea, and the skies. 

" From the violent rolling of the ship, 
what we all dreaded happened at last. The 
cables which held her bow were torn away: 
she then swung to a single hawser, and was 
instantly dashed upon the rocks, at the dis- 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 245 

tance of half a cable's length from the shore. 
A general cry of horror issued from the spec- 
tators. Paul rushed forward to throw him- 
self into the sea, when, seizing him by the 
arm, ' My son,' I exclaimed, would you per- 
ish ? ' — ' Let me go to save her,' he cried, ' or 
let me die ! ' Seeing that despair had de- 
prived him of reason, Domingo and I, in 
order to preserve him, fastened a long cord 
round his waist, and held it fast by the end. 
Paul then precipitated himself towards the 
Saint-Geran, now swimming, and now walk- 
ing upon the rocks. Sometimes he had hopes 
of reaching the vessel, which the sea, by the 
reflux of its waves, had left almost dry, so 
that you could have walked round it on foot ; 
but suddenly the billows, returning with 
fresh fury, shrouded it beneath mountains of 
water, which then lifted it upright upon its 
keel. The breakers at the same moment 
threw the unfortunate Paul far .upon the 
beach, his legs bathed in blood, his bosom 



246 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

wounded, and himself half dead. The mo- 
ment he had recovered the use of his 
senses, he arose, and returned with new 
ardor towards the vessel, the parts of which 
now yawned asunder from the violent strokes 
of the billows. The crew then, despairing of 
their safety, threw themselves in crowds into 
the sea, upon yards, planks, hen-coops, tables 
and barrels. At this moment we beheld an 
object which wrung our hearts w T ith grief and 
pity : a young lady appeared in the stern- 
gallery of the Saint-Geran, stretching out 
her arms towards him who was making so 
many efforts to join her. It w r as Virginia. 
She had discovered her lover by his intrepid- 
ity. The sight of this amiable girl, exposed 
to such horrible danger, filled us with unut- 
terable despair. As for Virginia, with a firm 
and dignified mien, she w r aved her hand, as 
if bidding us an eternal farewell. All the 
sailors had flung themselves into the sea, 
except one, who still remained upon the 




" Virginia, seeing death inevitable, crossed her hands upon her breast." 
Page 247. 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 247 

deck, and who was naked, and strong as 
Hercules. This man approached Virginia 
with respect, and, kneeling at her feet, at- 
tempted to force her to throw off her 
clothes; but she repulsed him with mod- 
esty, and turned away her head. Then 
were heard redoubled cries from the specta- 
tors, ' Save her ! — save her ! — do not leave 
her ! ' But at that moment a mountain bil- 
low, of enormous magnitude, ingulfed itself 
between the isle of Amber and the coast, 
and menaced the shattered vessel, towards 
which it rolled bellowing, with its black sides 
and foaming head. At this terrible sight the 
sailor flung himself into the sea; and Vir- 
ginia, seeing death inevitable, crossed her 
hands upon her breast/ and raising upwards 
her serene and beauteous eyes, seemed an 
angel prepared to take her flight to heaven. 
" Oh, day of horror ! Alas ! every thing 
was swallowed up by the relentless billows. 
The surge threw some of the spectators, 



24S PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

whom an impulse of humanity had prompted 
to advance towards Virginia, far upon the 
beach, and also the sailor who had endeav- 
ored to save her life. This man, who had 
escaped from almost certain death, kneeling 
on the sand, exclaimed, — 'Oh, my God! 
thou hast saved my life, but I would have 
given it willingly for that excellent young 
lady, who persevered in not undressing her- 
self as I had done/ Domingo and I drew 
the unfortunate Paul to the shore. He was 
senseless, and blood was flowing from his 
mouth and ears. The governor ordered him 
to be put into the hands of a surgeon, while 
we, on our part, wandered along the beach, 
in hopes that the sea would throw up the 
corpse of Virginia. But the wind having 
suddenly changed, as it frequently happens 
during hurricanes, our search was in vain ; 
and we had the grief of thinking that we 
should not be able to bestow on this sweet 
and unfortunate girl the last sad duties. We 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 249 

retired from the spot overwhelmed with dis- 
may, and our minds wholly occupied by one 
cruel loss, although numbers had perished in 
the wreck. Some of the spectators seemed 
tempted, from the fatal destiny of this virtu- 
ous girl, to doubt the existence of Provi- 
dence ; for there are in life such terrible, 
such unmerited evils, that even the hope of 
the wise is sometimes shaken. 

"In the meantime, Paul, who began to 
recover his senses, was taken to a house in 
the neighborhood till he was in a fit state to 
be removed to his own home. Thither I 
bent my way with Domingo, to discharge 
the melancholy duty of preparing Virginia's 
mother and her friend for the disastrous event 
which had happened. When we had reached 
the entrance of the valley of the river of 
Fan-Palms, some negroes informed us that 
the sea had thrown up many pieces of the 
wreck in the opposite bay. We descended 
towards it; and one of the first objects 



250 PAUL AXD VIRGINIA. 

which struck my sight upon the beach -was 
the corpse of Virginia. The body was half 
covered with sand, and preserved the attitude 
in which we had seen her perish. Her fea- 
tures were not sensiblv changed ; her eves 
were closed, and her countenance was still 
serene ; but the pale purple hues of death 
were blended on her cheek with the blush 
of virgin modesty. One of her hands was 
placed upon her clothes ; and the other, 
which she held on her heart, was fast 
closed, and so stiffened, that it was with 
difficulty I took from its grasp a small box. 
How great was my emotion, when I saw it 
contained the picture of Paul, which she had 
promised him never to part with while she 
lived ! At the sight of this last mark of the 
fidelity and tenderness of the unfortunate 
girl, I wept bitterly. As for Domingo, he 
beat his breast, and pierced the air with his 
shrieks. With heavy hearts we then carried 
the body of Virginia to a fisherman's hut, 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 251 

and gave it in charge to some poor Malabar 
women, who carefully washed away the sand. 
"While they were employed in this melan- 
choly office, we ascended the hill with trem- 
bling steps to the plantation. We found 
Madame de la Tour and Margaret at prayer, 
hourly expecting to have tidings from the 
ship. As soon as Madame de la Tour saw 
me coming, she eagerly cried, — ' Where is 
my daughter — my dear daughter — my child?' 
My silence and my tears apprised her of her 
misfortune. She was instantly seized with a 
convulsive stopping of the breath and ago- 
nizing pains, and her voice was only heard 
in sighs and groans. Margaret cried, — 
1 Where is my son ? I do not see my son ! ' — 
and fainted. We ran to her assistance. In 
a short time she recovered, and being as- 
sured that Paul was safe, and under the care 
of the governor, she thought of nothing but 
of succoring her friend, who recovered from 
one fainting fit only to fall into another. 



252 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

Madame de la Tour passed the whole night 
in these cruel sufferings, and I became con- 
vinced that there was no sorrow like that of 
a mother. When she recovered her senses, 
she cast a fixed, unconscious look towards 
heaven. In vain her friend and myself 
pressed her hands in ours : in vain we called 
upon her by the most tender names ; she 
appeared wholly insensible to these testimo- 
nials of our affection, and no sound issued 
from her oppressed bosom but deep and 
hollow moans. 

" During the morning, Paul was carried 
home in a palanquin. He had now recovered 
the use of his reason, but was unable to utter 
a word. His interview with his mother and 
Madame de la Tour, which I had dreaded, 
produced a better effect than all my cares. 
A ray of consolation gleamed on the coun- 
tenance of the two unfortunate mothers. 
They pressed close to him, clasped him in 
their arms, and kissed him : their tears, 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 253 

which excess of anguish had till now dried 
up at the source, began to flow. Paul mixed 
his tears with theirs ; and nature having thus 
found relief, a long stupor succeeded the 
convulsive pangs they had suffered, and 
afforded them a lethargic repose, which was, 
in truth, like that of death. 

" Monsieur de la Bourdonnais sent to ap- 
prise me secretly that the corpse of Virginia 
had been borne to the town by his order, 
from whence it was to be transferred to the 
church of the Shaddock Grove. I immedi- 
ately went down to Port Louis, where I found 
a multitude assembled from all parts of the 
island, in order to be present at the funeral 
solemnity, as if the isle had lost that which 
was nearest and dearest to it. The vessels 
in the harbor had their yards crossed, their 
flags half-mast, and fired guns at long inter- 
vals. A body of grenadiers led the funeral 
procession, with their muskets reversed, their 
muffled drums sending forth slow and dismal 



254 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

sounds. Dejection was depicted in the coun- 
tenances of these warriors, who had so often 
braved death in battle without changing 
color. Eight young ladies of considerable 
families of the island, dressed in white, and 
bearing palm branches in their hands, carried 
the corpse of their amiable companion, which 
was covered with flowers. They were fol- 
lowed by a chorus of children, chanting 
hymns, and by the governor, his field officers, 
all the principal inhabitants of the island, 
and an immense crowd of people. 

"This imposing funeral solemnity had been 
ordered by the administration of the country, 
which was desirous of doing honor to the 
virtues of Virginia. But when the mournful 
procession arrived at the foot of this moun- 
tain, within sight of those cottages of which 
she had so long been an inmate and an orna- 
ment, diffusing happiness all around them, 
and which her loss had now filled with de- 
spair, the funeral pomp was interrupted, the 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 255 

hymns and anthems ceased, and the whole 
plain resounded with sighs and lamentations. 
Numbers of young girls ran from the neigh- 
boring plantations, to touch the coffin of 
Virginia with their handkerchiefs, and with 
chaplets and crowns of flowers, invoking her 
as a saint. Mothers asked of heaven a child 
like Virginia ; lovers, a heart as faithful ; the 
poor, as tender a friend ; and the slaves as 
kind a mistress. 

"When the procession had reached the 
place of interment, some negresses of Mada- 
gascar and Caffres of Mosambique placed a 
number of baskets of fruit around the corpse, 
and hung pieces of stuff upon the adjoining 
trees, according to the custom of their seve- 
ral countries. Some Indian women from 
Bengal also, and from the coast of Malabar, 
brought cages full of small birds, which they 
set at liberty upon her coffin. Thus deeply 
did the loss of this amiable being affect the 
natives of different countries, and thus was 



256 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

the ritual of various religions performed ever 
the tomb of unfortunate virtue. 

"It became necessary to place guards 
round her grave, and to employ gentle force 
in removing some of the daughters of the 
neighboring villagers, who endeavored to 
throw themselves into it, saying, that they 
had no longer any consolation to hope for in 
this world, and that nothing remained for 
them but to die with their benefactress. 

u On the western side of the church of the 
Shaddock Grove is a small copse of bam- 
boos, where, in returning from mass " 
her mother and Margaret, Virginia loved to 
rest herseif, seated bv the side of him whom 
she then called her brother. This was the 
spot selected for her interment. 

" At his return from the funeral solemnity, 
Monsieur de la Bourdonnais came up here, 
followed by part of his numerous retinue. 
He offered Madame de la Tour and her 
friend all the assistance it was in his power 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 257 

to bestow. After briefly expressing his in- 
dignation at the conduct of her unnatural 
aunt, he advanced to Paul, and said every- 
thing which he thought most likely to soothe 
and console him. — -' Heaven is my witness/ 
said he, ' that I wished to ensure your hap- 
piness, and that of your family. My dear 
friend, you must go to France : I will obtain 
a commission for you, and during your ab- 
sence I will take the same care of your 
mother as if she were my own.' He then 
offered him his hand ; but Paul drew away, 
and turned his head aside, unable to bear his 
sight. 

"I remained for some time at the planta- 
tion of my unfortunate friends, that I might 
render to them and Paul those offices of 
friendship that were in my power, and which 
might alleviate, though they could not heal, 
the wounds of calamity. At the end of 
three weeks Paul was able to walk ; but his 

mind seemed to droop in proportion as his 
17 



258 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

body gathered strength. He was insensible 
to every thing ; his look was vacant ; and 
when asked a question, he made no reply. 
Madame de la Tour, who was dying, said to 
him often, — ' My son, while I look at you, I 
think I see my dear Virginia.' At the name 
of Virginia he shuddered, and hastened away 
from her, notwithstanding the entreaties of 
his mother, who begged him to come back 
to her friend. He used to go alone into the 
garden, and seat himself at the foot of Vir- 
ginia's cocoa-tree, with his eyes fixed upon 
the fountain. The governor's surgeon, who 
had shown the most humane attention to 
Paul and the whole family, told us that, in 
order to cure the deep melancholy which had 
taken possession of his mind, we must allow 
him to do whatever he pleased, without con- 
tradiction : this, he said, afforded the only 
chance of overcoming the silence in which 
he persevered. 

" I resolved to follow this advice. The 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 259 

first use which Paul made of his returning 
strength was to absent himself from the 
plantation. Being determined not to lose 
sight of him, I set out immediately, and 
desired Domingo to take some provisions 
and accompany us. The young man's 
strength and spirits seemed renewed as he 
descended the mountain. He first took the 
road to the Shaddock Grove ; and when he 
was near the church, in the Alley of Bam- 
boos, he walked directly to the spot where 
he saw some earth fresh turned up : kneeling 
down there, and raising his eyes to heaven, 
he offered up a long prayer. This appeared 
to me a favorable symptom of the return of 
his reason ; since this mark of confidence in 
the Supreme Being showed that his mind 
was beginning to resume its natural func- 
tions. Domingo and I, following his exam- 
ple, fell upon our knees, and mingled our 
prayers with his. When he arose, he bent 
his way, paying little attention to us, towards 



260 PAUL A AW VIRGINIA. 

the northern part of the island. As I knew 
that he was not only ignorant of the spot 
where the body of Virginia had been depos- 
ited, but even of the fact that it had been 
recovered from the waves, I asked him why 
he had offered up his prayer at the foot of 
those bamboos. He answered, — 'We have 
been there so often.' 

" He continued his course until we reached 
the borders of the forest, when night came 
on. I set him the example of taking some 
nourishment, and prevailed on him to do the 
same ; and we slept upon the grass, at the 
foot of a tree. The next day I thought he 
seemed disposed to retrace his steps ; for, 
after having gazed a considerable time from 
the plain upon the church of the Shaddock 
Grove, with its long avenues of bamboos, he 
made a movement as if to return home ; but, 
suddenly plunging into the forest, he directed 
his course towards the north. I guessed what 
was his design, and I endeavored, but in vain, 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 261 

to dissuade him from it. About noon we 
arrived at the quarter of Golden Dust. He 
rushed down to the sea-shore, opposite to the 
spot where the Saint-Geran had been wrecked. 
At the sight of the isle of Amber, and its 
channel, then smooth as a mirror, he ex- 
claimed, — ' Virginia ! oh, my dear Virginia ! ' 
and fell senseless. Domingo and I carried 
him into the woods, where we had some diffi- 
culty in recovering him. As soon as he re- 
gained his senses, he wished to return to the 
sea-shore ; but we conjured him not to renew 
his own anguish and ours by such cruel re- 
membrances, and he took another direction. 
During a whole week he sought every spot 
where he had once wandered with the com- 
panion of his childhood. He traced the path 
by which she had gone to intercede for the 
slave of the Black River. He gazed again 
upon the banks of the river of the Three 
Breasts, where she had rested herself when 
unable to walk further, and upon that part of 



262 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

the wood where they had lost their way. All 
the haunts, which recalled to his memory the 
anxieties, the sports, the repasts, the benev- 
olence of her he loved, — the river of the 
Sloping Mountain, my house, the neighbor- 
ing cascade, the papaw tree she had planted, 
the grassy fields in which she loved to run, 
the openings of the forest where she used to 
sing, all in succession called forth his tears ; 
and those very echoes which had so often 
resounded with their mutual shouts of joy, 
now repeated only these accents of despair, — 
1 Virginia ! oh, my dear Virginia ! ' 

" During this savage and wandering life, 
his eyes became sunk and hollow, his skin 
assumed a yellow tint, and his health rapidly 
declined. Convinced that our present suffer- 
ings are rendered more acute by the bitter 
recollection of by-gone pleasures, and that 
the passions gather strength in solitude, I 
resolved to remove mv unfortunate friend 
from those scenes which recalled the remem- 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 263 

brance of his loss, and to lead him to a 
more busy part of the island. With this 
view, I conducted him to the inhabitated 
part of the elevated quarter of Williams, 
which he had never visited, and where the 
busy pursuits of agriculture and commerce 
ever occasioned much bustle and variety. 
Numbers of carpenters were employed in 
hewing down and squaring trees, while 
others were sawing them into planks ; car- 
riages were continually passing and repassing 
on the roads ; numerous herds of oxen and 
troops of horses were feeding on those wide- 
spread meadows, and the whole country was 
dotted with the dwellings of man. On some 
spots the elevation of the soil permitted the 
culture of many of the plants of Europe ; 
the yellow ears of ripe corn waved upon the 
plains ; strawberry plants grew in the open- 
ings of the woods, and the roads were bor- 
dered by hedges of rose-trees. The fresh- 
ness of the air, too, giving tension to the 



264 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

nerves, was favorable to the health of Euro- 
peans. From those heights, situated near the 
middle of the island, and surrounded bv ex- 
tensive forests, neither the sea nor Port 
Louis, nor the church of the Shaddock 
Grove, nor any other object associated with 
the remembrance of Virginia could be dis- 
cerned. Even the mountains, which present 
various shapes on the side of Port Louis ap- 
pear from hence like a long promontory, in a 
straight and perpendicular line, from which 
arise lofty pyramids of rock, whose summits 
are enveloped in the clouds. 

" Conducting Paul to these scenes, I kept 
him continually in action, walking with him 
in rain and sunshine, by night and by day. 
I sometimes wandered with him into the 
depths of the forests, or led him over un- 
tilled grounds, hoping that change of scene 
and fatigue might divert his mind from its 
gloomy meditations. But the soul of a lover 
finds every where the traces of the beloved 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 265 

object. Night and day, the calm of solitude 
and the tumult of crowds, are to him the 
same; time itself, which casts the shade of 
oblivion over so many other remembrances, 
in vain would tear that tender and sacred 
recollection from the heart. The needle, 
when touched by the loadstone, however it 
may have been moved from its position, is 
no sooner left to repose, than it turns to the 
pole of its attraction. So, when I inquired 
of Paul, as we wandered amidst the plains of 
Williams, — i Where shall we now go?' he 
pointed to the north, and said, ' Yonder are 
our mountains, let us return home/ 

" I now saw that all the means I took to 
divert him from his melancholy were fruit- 
less, and that no resource was left but an 
attempt to combat his passion by the argu- 
ments which reason suggested. I answered 
him — ' Yes, there are the mountains where 
once dwelt your beloved Virginia ; and here 
is the picture you gave her, and which she 



266 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

held, when dying, to her heart, that heart, 
which even in its last mements only beat for 
you.' I then presented to Paul the little por- 
trait which he had given to Virginia on the 
borders of the cocoa-tree fountain. At this 
sight a gloomy joy overspread his counte- 
nance. He eagerly seized the picture with 
his feeble hands, and held it to his lips. His 
oppressed bosom seemed ready to burst with 
emotion, and his eyes were filled with tears 
which had no power to flow. 

"'My son/ said I, 'listen to one who is 
your friend, who was the friend of Virginia, 
and who, in the bloom of your hopes, has 
often endeavored to fortify your mind against 
the unforeseen accidents of life. What do 
you deplore with so much bitterness ? Is it 
your own misfortunes or those of Virginia, 
which affect you so deeply? 

" ' Your own misfortunes are indeed severe. 
You have lost the most amiable of girls, who 
would have grown up to womanhood a pat- 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 267 

tern to her sex ; one who sacrificed her own 
interests to yours, who preferred you to all 
that fortune could bestow, and considered you 
as the only recompense worthy of her virtues. 
But might not this very object, from whom 
you expected the purest happiness, have 
proved to you a source of the most cruel 
distress ? She had returned poor and disin- 
herited : all you could henceforth have par- 
taken with her was your labor. Rendered 
more delicate by her education, and more 
courageous by her misfortunes, you might 
have beheld her every day sinking beneath 
her efforts to share and lighten your fatigues. 
Had she brought you children, they would 
only have served to increase her anxieties 
and your own, from the difficulties of sus- 
taining at once your aged parents and your 
infant family. 

"'Very likely you will tell me that the 
governor would have helped you ; but how 
do you know that in a colony whose govern- 



PAZ" AND VIRGINIA. 

ors are so frequently changed, you would 

have had rthers like Minsiear de la E:ur- 
' rnnais ?— that :::e might r.:: have beer. sent 
destitute :■: a:: a feeling and rniralitv: — :kat 
your ycung wife, iu :rder :: ::r::ure s:nae 
miserable pittance, might :::: have :ee:; 
obliged to seek his favor? Had she been 
weak ou would have been to be pitied ; and 
if she had remained virtuous, you would have 
: rntir.ued ;::::: ::r:ed ever. :: :■: 
yourself fortunate if, on account of the 
beauty and virtue of your wife, you had not 
to endure persecution from those who had 
promised you protection. 

I : vould still have remained to you, you 
may say. :: have eruoyed a pleasure indepen- 
dent :: fortune.— :ha: :: prrtectirg a lie- 
loved being, who, in proportion to her own 
helplessness, had m:re attached herself :o 
ycu, You raay fo:::y :ha: your pains and 
sufferings vrculd have served :: en fear 
:: each other, and :ha; y:ur ::ass::r. v.uuld 



PAUL AA r D VIRGINIA. 269 

have gathered strength from your mutual 
misfortunes. Undoubtedly virtuous love 
does find consolation even in such melan- 
choly retrospects. But Virginia is no more ; 
yet those persons still live, whom, next to 
yourself, she held most dear; her mother, 
and your own ; your inconsolable affliction is 
bringing them both to the grave. Place 
your happiness as she did hers, in affording 
them succor. My son ! beneficence is the 
happiness of the virtuous ; there is no other 
greater or more certain enjoyment on the 
earth. Schemes of pleasure, repose, luxu- 
ries, wealth, and glory are not suited to man, 
weak, wandering, and transitory as he. is. 
See how rapidly one step towards the acqui- 
sition of fortune has precipitated us all to 
the lowest abyss of misery ! You were op- 
posed to it, it is true ; but who would not 
have thought that Virginia's voyage would 
terminate in her happiness and your own? 
An invitation from a rich and aged relative, 



2;o PAUL AXD VIRGIXIA* 

the advice of a wise governor, the approba- 
tion of the whole colony, and the well-advised 

authority of her confessor, decided the lot of 
Virginia. Thus do we run to our ruin, de- 
ceived even by the prudence of those who 
watch over us. It would be better, no doubt, 
not to believe them, nor even to listen to the 
voice or lean on the hopes of a deceitful 
world. But all men. — those you see occu- 
pied in these plains, those who go abroad to 
seek their fortunes, and those in Europe who 
enjoy repose from the labors of ethers, are 
liable to reverses, not one is secure from 
losing at some peri::h all that he most val- 
ues, — greatness, wealth, wife, children, and 
friends. Most of these woula have their 
sorrow increased by the remembrance of 
their own imprudence. But you have noth- 
ing with which you can reproach yourself, 
Yet; have been faithful in your love. In the 
bloom of yeuth, by not departing from the 
dictates of nature, vou evince:; the wisdom 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 271 

of a sage. Your views were just, because 
they were pure, simple, and disinterested. 
You had, besides, on Virginia, sacred claims 
which nothing could countervail. You have 
lost her : but it is neither your own impru- 
dence, nor your avarice, nor your false wis- 
dom which has occasioned this misfortune, 
but the will of God, who has employed the 
passions of others to snatch from you the 
object of your love; God, from whom you 
derive everything, who knows what is most 
fitting for you, and whose wisdom has not 
left you any cause for the repentance and 
despair which succeed the calamities that are 
brought upon us by ourselves. 

" * Vainly, in your misfortunes, do you say 
to yourself, ' I have not deserved them.' Is 
it then the calamity or Virginia — her death 
and her present condition, that you deplore ? 
She has undergone the fate allotted to all, — 
to high birth, to beauty, and even to empires 
themselves. The life of man, with all his 



272 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

projects, may be compared to a tower, at 
whose summit is death. When your Vir- 
ginia was born, she was condemned to die : 
happily for herself, she is released from life 
before losing her mother, or yours, or you ; 
saved, thus, from undergoing pangs worse 
than those of death itself. 

"' Learn then, my son, that death is a ben- 
efit to all men : it is the night of that rest- 
less day we call by the name of life. The 
diseases, the griefs, the vexations and the 
fears, which perpetually embitter our life as 
long as we possess it, molest us no more in 
the sleep of death. If you inquire into the 
history of those men who appear to have 
been the happiest, you will find that they 
have bought their apparent felicity very 
dear : public consideration, perhaps, by do- 
mestic evils ; fortune, by the loss of health ; 
the rare happiness of being beloved, by con- 
tinual sacrifices ; and often, at the expiration 
of a life devote.d to the good of others, they 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 273 

see themselves surrounded only by false 
friends, and ungrateful relations. But Vir- 
ginia was happy to her very last moment. 
When with us, she was happy in partaking 
of the gifts of nature ; when far from us, she 
found enjoyment in the practice of virtue; 
and even at the terrible moment in which we 
saw her perish, she still had cause for self- 
gratulation. For, whether she cast her eyes 
on the assembled colony, made miserable by 
her expected loss, or on yon, my son, who, 
with so much intrepidity, were endeavoring 
to save her, she must have seen how dear she 
was to all. Her mind was fortified against 
the future by the remembrance of her inno- 
cent life : and at that moment she received 
the reward which Heaven reserves for virtue, 
— a courage superior to danger. ■ She met 
death with a serene countenance. 

"' My son ! God gives all the trials of life 
to virtue, in order to show that virtue alone 

can support them, and even find in them 
18 



2-1 PAUL AXD VIRGIXIA. 

happiness and glory. When he designs for 
it an illustrious reputation, he exhibits it on 
a wide theatre, and contending with death. 
Then does the courage of virtue shine forth 
as an example, and the misfortunes to which 
it has been exposed receive for "ever, from 
posterity, the tribute of their tears. This is 
the immortal monument reserved for virtue 
in a world where everything else passes 
away, and where the names, even of the 
greater number of kings themselves, are 
soon buried in eternal oblivion. 

" ' Meanwhile, Virginia still exists. My 
son, you see that everything changes on this 
earth, but that nothing is ever lost. Xo art 
of man can annihilate the smallest particle 
of matter : can, then, that which has pos- 
sessed reason, sensibility, affection, virtue, 
and religion, be supposed car able of destruc- 
tion, when the very elements with which it 
is closed are imperishable ? Ah 1 however 
happy Virginia may have been with us, she 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 275 

is now much more so. There is a God, my 
son : it is unnecessary for me to prove it to 
you, for the voice of all nature loudly pro- 
claims it. The wickedness of mankind leads 
them to deny the existence of a Being, whose 
justice they fear. But your mind is fully 
convinced of his existence, while his w T orks 
are ever before your eyes. Do you then 
believe that he would leave Virginia without 
recompense ? Do you think that the same 
Power which enclosed her noble soul in a 
form so beautiful, — so like an emanation 
from itself, could not have saved her from 
the waves ? — that He who has ordained the 
happiness of man here, by laws unknown to 
you, cannot prepare a still higher degree of 
felicity for Virginia by other laws, of which 
you are equally ignorant ? Before we w r ere 
born into this world, could we, do you im- 
agine, even if we were capable of thinking 
at all, have formed any idea of our existence 
here ? And now that we are in the midst of 



276 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

this gloomy and transitory life, can we fore- 
see what is beyond the tomb, or in what 
manner we shall be emancipated from it ? 
Does God, like man, need this little globe, 
the earth, as a theatre for the display of his 
intelligence and his goodness ? — and can he 
only dispose of human life in the territory of 
death ? There is not, in the entire ocean, a 
single drop of water which is not peopled 
with living beings appertaining to man : and 
does there exist nothing for him in the 
heavens above his head ! What ! is there no 
supreme intelligence, no divine goodness, ex- 
cept on this little spot where we are placed ? 
In those innumerable glowing fires, — in those 
infinite fields of light which surround them, 
and which neither storms nor darkness can 
extinguish, is there nothing but empty space 
and an eternal void ? If we, weak and igno- 
rant as we are, might dare to assign limits to 
that Power from whom we have received 
everything, we might possibly imagine that 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 277 

we were placed on the very confines of his 
empire, where life is perpetually struggling 
with death, and innocence for ever in danger 
from the power of tyranny ! 

" ' Somewhere, then, without doubt, there 
is another world, where virtue will receive its 
reward. Virginia is now happy. Ah ! if 
from the abode of angels she could hold 
communication with you, she would tell you, 
as she did when she bade you her last adieus, 
— " O, Paul ! life is but a scene of trial. I 
have been obedient to the laws of nature, 
love, and virtue. I crossed the seas to obey 
the will of my relations ; I sacrificed wealth, 
in order to keep my faith ; and I preferred 
the loss of life to disobeying the dictates of 
modesty. Heaven found that I had fulfilled 
my duties, and has snatched me for ever 
from all the miseries I might have endured 
myself, and all I might have felt for the mis- 
eries of others. I am placed far above the 
reach of all human evils, and you pity me! 



278 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

I am become pure and unchangeable as a 
particle of light, and you would recall me to 
the darkness of human life ! O, Paul ! O, 
my beloved friend ! recollect those days of 
happiness, when in the morning we felt the 
delightful sensations excited by the unfold- 
ing beauties of nature; when we seemed to 
rise with the sun to the peaks of those rocks, 
and then to spread with his rays over the 
bosom of the forests. We experienced a 
delight, the cause of which we could not 
comprehend. In the innocence of our de- 
sires, we wished to be all sight, to enjoy the 
rich colors of the early dawn ; all smell, to 
taste a thousand perfumes at once ; all hear- 
ing, to listen to the singing of our birds ; and 
all heart, to be capable of gratitude for these 
mingled blessings. Now, at the source of 
the beauty whence flows all that is delightful 
upon earth, my soul intuitively sees, tastes, 
hears, touches, what before she could only 
be made sensible of through the medium of 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 279 

our weak organs. Ah ! what language can 
describe these shores of eternal bliss, which 
I inhabit forever ! All that infinite power 
and heavenly goodness could create to con- 
sole the unhappy : all that the friendship of 
numberless beings, exulting in the same 
felicity can impart, we enjoy in unmixe$ 
perfection. Support, then, the trial which is 
now allotted to you, that you may heighten 
the happiness of your Virginia by love which 
will know no termination, — by a union which 
will be eternal. There I will calm your re- 
grets, I will wipe away your tears. Oh ! my 
beloved friend ! my youthful husband ! raise 
your thoughts towards the infinite, to enable 
you to support the evils of a moment." ' 

" My own emotion choked my utterance. 
Paul looking at me steadfastly, cried, — ' She 
is no more ! she is no more ! ' and a long 
fainting fit succeeded these words of woe. 
When restored to himself, he said, ' Since 
death is a good, and since Virginia is happy, 



2So PAUL AXD VIRGIXIA. 

I will die too, and be united to Virginia/ 
Thus the motives of consolation I had 
offered, only served to nourish his despair. I 
was in the situation of a man who attempts 
to save a friend sinking in the midst of a 
flood, and who obstinately refuses to swim. 
Sorrow had completely overwhelmed his 
soul. Alas ! the trials of early years pre- 
pare man for the afflictions of after-life; but 
Paul had never experienced any. 

" I took him back to his own dwelling, 
where I found his mother and Madame de la 
Tour in a state of increased languor and ex- 
haustion, but Margaret seemed to droop the 
most. Lively characters, upon whom petty 
troubles have but little effect, sink the 
soonest under great calamities. 

"'0 my good friend,' said Margaret, 'I 
thought last night I saw Virginia, dressed in 
white, in the midst of groves and delicious 
gardens. She said to me, "I enjoy the most 
perfect happiness ; " and then approaching 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 281 

Paul with a smiling air, she bore him away 
with her. While I was struggling to retain 
my son, I felt that I myself too was quitting 
the earth, and that I followed with inexpress- 
ible delight. I then wished to bid my friend 
farewell, when I saw that she was hastening 
after me, accompanied by Mary and Domin- 
go. But the strangest circumstance remains 
yet to be told : Madame de la Tour has this 
very night had a dream exactly like mine in 
every possible respect/ 

" ' My dear friend/ I replied, ' nothing, I 
firmly believe, happens in this world without 
the permission of God. Future events, too, 
are sometimes revealed in dreams/ 

" Madame de la Tour then related to me 
her dream, which was exactly the same as 
Margaret's in every particular ; and as I had 
never observed in either of these ladies any 
propensity to superstition, I was struck with 
the singular coincidence of their dreams, and 
I felt convinced that they would soon be 



282 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 

realized. The belief that future events are 
sometimes revealed to us during sleep, is one 
that is widely diffused among the nations of 
the earth. The greatest men of antiquity 
have had faith in it, among whom may be 
mentioned Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar, 
the Scipios, the two Catos, and Brutus, none 
of whom were weak-minded persons. Both 
the Old and the New Testament furnish us 
with numerous instances of dreams that 
came to pass. As for myself, I need only, on 
this subject, appeal to my own experience, as 
I have more than once had good reason to 
believe that superior intelligences, who inter- 
est themselves in our welfare, communicate 
with us in these visions of the night. Things 
which surpass the light of human reason 
cannot be proved by arguments derived 
from that reason ; but still, if the mind of 
man is an image of that of God, since man 
can make known his will to the ends of the 
earth by secret missives, may not the Su- 



PAUL AXD VIRGINIA. 283 

preme Intelligence which governs the uni- 
verse employ similar means to attain a like 
end ? One friend consoles another by a let- 
ter, which, after passing through many king- 
doms, and beins; in the hands of various 
individuals at enmity with each other, brings 
at last joy and hope to the breast of a single 
human being. May not in like manner the 
Sovereign Protector of innocence come, in 
some secret way, to the help of a virtuous 
soul, which puts its trust in him alone ? Has 
He occasion to employ visible means to 
effect his purpose in this, whose ways are 
hidden in all his ordinary works ? 

"Why should we doubt the evidence of 
dreams ? for what is our life, occupied as it 
is with vain and fleeting imaginations, other 
than a prolonged vision of the nigh: ? 

" Whatever mav be thought of this in °;en- 
eral, on the present occasion the dreams of 
my friends were soon realized. Paul expired 
two months after the death of his Virginia, 



284 PAUL AXD VIRGINIA. 

whose name dwelt on his lips in his expiring 
moments. About a week after the death of 
her son, Margaret saw her last hour approach 
with that serenity which virtue only can feel. 
She bade Madame de la Tour a most tender 
farewell, 'in the certain hope,' she said, 'of 
a delightful and eternal re-union. Death is 
the greatest of blessings to us/ added she, 
1 and we ought to desire it. If life be a pun- 
ishment, we should wish for its termination ; 
if it be a trial, we should be thankful that it 
is short.' 

" The governor took care of Domingo and 
Mary, who were no longer able to labor, and 
who survived their mistresses but a short 
time. As for poor Fidele, he pined to death, 
soon after he had lost his master. 

" I afforded an asylum in my dwelling to 
Madame de la Tour, who bore up under her 
calamities with incredible elevation of mind. 
She had endeavored to console Paul and 
Margaret till their last moments, as if she 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 2S5 

herself had no misfortunes of her own to 
bear. When they were no more, she used 
to talk to me every day of them as of beloved 
friends, who were still living near her. She 
survived them, however, but one month. Far 
from reproaching her aunt for the afflictions 
she had caused, her benign spirit prayed to 
God to pardon her, and to appease that re- 
morse which we heard began to torment her, 
as soon as she had sent Virginia away with 
so much inhumanity. 

" Conscience, that certain punishment of 
the guilty, visited with all its terrors the 
mind of this unnatural relation. So great 
was her torment, that life and death became 
equally insupportable to her. Sometimes 
she reproached herself with the untimely fate 
of her lovely niece, and with the death of her 
mother which had immediately followed it. 
At other times she congratulated herself for 
having repulsed far from her two wretched 
creatures who, she said, had both dishonored 



2S6 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

their family by their grovelling inclinations. 
Sometimes, at the sight of the many misera- 
ble objects with which Paris abounds, she 
would fly into a rage, and exclaim, — 'Why 
are not these idle people sent off to the colo- 
nies ? ' As for the notions of humanity, vir- 
tue, and religion adopted by all nations, she 
said, they w r ere only the inventions of their 
rulers, to serve political purposes. Then, 
flying all at once to the other extreme, she 
abandoned herself to superstitious terrors, 
which filled her with mortal fears. She 
would then give abundant alms to the 
wealthy ecclesiastics who governed her, be- 
seeching them to appease the wrath of God 
by the sacrifice of her fortune, — as if the 
offering to Him of the wealth she had with- 
held from the miserable could please her 
Heavenly Father ! In her imagination she 
often beheld fields of fire, with burning 
mountains, wherein hideous spectres wan- 
dered about, loudly calling on her by name. 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 287 

She threw herself at her confessor's feet, 
imagining every description of agony and 
torture ; for Heaven — just Heaven, always 
sends to the cruel the most frightful views 
of religion and a future state. 

"Atheist, thus, and fanatic in turn, hold- 
ing both life and death in equal horror, she 
lived on for several years. But what com- 
pleted the torments of her miserable exist- 
ence, was that very object to which she had 
sacrificed every natural affection. She was 
deeply annoyed at perceiving that her for- 
tune must go, at her death, to relations whom 
she hated, and she determined to alienate as 
much of it as she could. They, however, 
taking advantage of her frequent attacks of 
low spirits, caused her to be secluded as a 
lunatic, and her affairs to be put into the 
hands of trustees. Her wealth, thus, com- 
pleted her ruin ; and, as the possession of it 
had hardened her own heart, so did its antici- 
pation corrupt the hearts of those who cov- 



28S PAUL AXD VIRGINIA. 

eted it from her. At length she died ; and, 
to crown her misery, she retained reason 
enough at last to be sensible that she was 
plundered and despised by the very persons 
whose opinions had been her rule of conduct 
during her whole life. 

" On the same spot, and at the foot of the 
same shrubs as his Virginia, was deposited 
the body of Paul; and round about them lie 
the remains of their tender mothers and their 
faithful servants. No marble marks the spot 
of their humble graves, — no inscription re- 
cords their virtues; but their memory is 
engraven upon the hearts of those whom 
they have befriended, in indelible charac- 
ters. Their spirits have no need of the 
pomp, which they shunned during their life ; 
but, if they still take an interest in what 
passes upon earth, they no doubt love to 
wander beneath the roofs of these humble 
dwellings, inhabited by industrious virtue, to 
console poverty discontented with its lot, to 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 289 

cherish in the hearts of lovers the sacred 
flame of fidelity, and to inspire a taste for 
the blessings of nature, a love of honest 
labor, and a dread of the allurements of 
riches. 

" The voice of the people, which is often 
silent with regard to the monuments raised 
to kings, has given to some parts of this 
island names which will immortalize the 
loss of Virginia. Near the Isle of Amber, 
in the midst of sand-banks, is a spot called 
The Pass of the Saint-Geran, from the name 
of the vessel which was there lost. The ex- 
tremity of that point of land which you see 
yonder, three leagues off, half-covered with 
water, and which the Saint-Geran could not 
double the night before the hurricane, is 
called The Cape of Misfortune ; and before 
us, at the end of the valley, is the Bay of the 
Tomb, where Virginia was found buried in 
the sand ; as if the waves had sought to 

restore her corpse to her family, that they 
19 



290 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

might render it the last sad duties on those 
shores where so many years of her innocent 
life had been passed. 

" Joined thus in death, ye faithful lovers, 
who were so tenderly united ! unfortunate 
mothers ! beloved family ! these woods which 
sheltered you with their foliage, — these foun- 
tains which flowed for you, — these hill-sides 
upon which you reposed, still deplore your 
loss ! No one has since presumed to culti- 
vate that desolate spot of land, or to rebuild 
those humble cottages. Your goats are be- 
come wild ; your orchards are destroyed ; 
your birds are all fled, and nothing is heard 
but the cry of the sparrow-hawk, as it skims 
in quest of prey around this rocky basin. As 
for myself, since I have ceased to behold you, 
I have felt friendless and alone, like a father 
bereft of his children, or a traveller who 
wanders by himself over the face of the 
earth." 

Ending with these words, the good old 



PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 



291 



man retired, bathed in tears ; and my own, 
too, had flowed more than once during this 
melancholy recital. 





BOOKS 

SELECTED ER03I 

D. Lothrop & Co.'s Catalogue. 

John S. C. Abbott. 

History of Christianity. 121110, cloth, illust., $2.00. 

Nehemiah Adams. 

At Eventide. i2mo, cloth, $1.25. 

Agnes and the Little Key. i2mo, cloth, $1.00. 

Bertha. i2mo, cloth, $1.00. 

Broadcast. i2mo, cloth, $1.00. 

Christ a Friend. 121110, cloth, $1.00. 

Communion Sabbath. i2mo, cloth, $1.25. 

Catherine. 121x10, cloth, $1.25. 

Cross in the Cell. i2mo, cloth, $1.00. 

Endless Punishment. i2mo, cloth, $1.00. 

Evenings with the Doctrines. i2mo, cloth, $1.00. 

Friends of Christ. i2mo, cloth, $1.00. 

Under the Mizzen-mast. 121110, cloth, illust., $1.00. 

Lydia Maria Child. 

Jamie and Jennie. i6mo, cloth, illust., $.75. 
Boy's Heaven. i6mo, cloth, illust., $.75. 
Making Something. i6mo, cloth, illust., $.75. 
Good Little Mittie. i6mo, cloth, illust., $.75. 
The Christ Child. i6mo, cloth, illust.,$.75. 

Col. Russell H. Conwell. 

Bayard Taylor. i2mo, cloth, illust., $1.50. 

Lizzie W. Champney. 

Entertainments i2mo, cloth, illust., $1.00. 



D. Loihrop c^ Co., Publishers. 
Abby Morton Diaz. 

Story Book for children. i2mo, cloth, illust., 3i.oo. 
"William Henry and his Friends. 121110, illust., 31.00. 
William Henry Letters. 121110, cloth, illust., 31.00. 
Polly Cologne. i2mo, cloth, illust., Si. 00. 
Lucy Maria. 121110, cloth, illust., Si. 00. 
The Jimmyjohns. 121110, cloth, illust., Si. 00. 
Domestic Problems. 121110, cloth, illust., Si.co. 
King Grimalkum. 4to, boards, illust.. 5 1.25. 
Christmas Morning. 121110, illust., b'ds, Si. 25 ; cloth, 
31.50. 

Julia A. Eastman. 

Kitty Kent. 121110, cloth, illust., $1.50. 

Young Rick. 121110, cloth, illust., $1.50. 

The Romneys of Ridgemont. i2mo. :.:o. 

Striking for the Right. 121110, cloth, illust., $1.7 5. 

School Days of Eeulah Romney. Illust^ Si. 50. 

Short Comings and Long Goings. 12:110, $1.25. 

Ella Farman. 

Anna Maylie. i2mo, cloth. : 1.50. 

A Little "Woman. i2mo, cloth, illust., Si. 00. 
A White Hand. 121110, cloth, illust., 1.50. 
A Girl's Money. i2mo, cloth, illust., $1.00. 
Grandma Crosby's Ilousehol 1. i2mo, cloth, il., $1.00. 
Good-for-Xothing Poll}*. i2mo, cloth, illust., 31.00. 
How two Girls tried Farming. 121110, paper, .552; 

cloth, Si.co. 
The Cooking Club. 121110, cloth, illust.. $1.25. 
Mrs. Hurd's Xiece. 121110, cloth, iilust.,31.50. 

A. A. Hopkins. 

Waifs and their Authors. Plain, $2.00 ; gilt, 3.2.50. 
John Bremm : His Prison Bars. 121110, cloth, $1.25. 
Sinner and Saint. 121110, cloth, $1.25. 
Our Sabbath Evening. 161110, cloth, 5:.:j. 

E. E. Hale and Miss Susan Hale. 

A Family Flight through France, Germany, Nor- 
way and Switzerland. Octavo, cloth, illust., $2.50. 



D. LotJirop 6° Co., Publishers, 

Lothrop's Library of Entertaining History. 
Edited by Arthur Oilman. 
India, by Fannie Roper Feudge. i2mo, cloth, 

illust., $1.5©; half Russia, $2.00. 
Egypt, by Mrs. Clara Erskine Clement. i2mo, 

cloth, illust, $1.50; half Russia, $2.00. 
Spain, by Prof. James H. Harrison. i2mo, cloth, 

illust., $1.50 ; half Russia, $2.00. 
Switzerland, by Miss H. D. S. Mackenzie. 121110, 

cloth, illust., $1.50 ; half Russia, $2.00. 

George MacDonald. 

Warlock o' Glenwarlock. i2mo, cloth, illust., $1.75. 
Seaboard Parish. i2mo, cloth, $1.75. 
Thomas Wingfold,Curate. 121110, illust., $1.75. 
Annals of a Quiet Neighborhood. 121110, Si. 7 5. 
Princess Rosamond. Quarto, board, illust, $.50. 
Double Story. 121110, cloth, illust., $1.00. 

George E. Merrill. 

Story of the Manuscripts. i2mo, cloth, illust., $1.00. 
Battles Lost and Won. 121110, cloth, illust., $1.50. 

Elias Nason. 

Henry Wilson. i2mo, cloth, illust., $1.50. 
Originality. i6mo, cloth, $.50. 

Pansy. (Mrs. G. R. Alden.) 

12/720, cloth, $1.50 Each. 
A New Graft on the Chautauqua Girls at 

Family Tree. Home (The). 

Divers Women. Echoing and Re-echoing* 

Ester Ried. Four Girls at Chautau- 

From Different Stand- qua. 

points. Hall in the Grove. 

Household Puzzles. Julia Ried. 

King's Daughter. Links in Rebecca's Life 

Modern Prophets. Pocket Measure (The). 

Randolphs (The). Ruth Erskine's Crosses. 

Sidney Martin's Christmas. Those Boys. 



D. Lothrop &> Co., Publishers. 

Tip Lewis and his Lamp. Three People. 
Wise and Otherwise. 
l2?no, doth, $1.25 Each. 
Cunning Workmen. Dr. Dearie's Way. 

Miss Priscilla Hunter and Grandpa's Darlings. 
My Daughter Susan. Mrs. Deane's Way. 

What She Said, Pansy Scrap Book, 

and What she Meant. (Former title, the Teach- 

ers' Helper.) 
\2mo, cloth, $1.00 Each. 
Next Things. Mrs. Harry Harper's 

Awakening. 
Some Young Heroines. Five Friends. 

i27?io, cloth, 75 cts. Each. 
Bernie's White Chicken. Docias' Journal. 
Getting Ahead. Helen Lester. 

Jessie Wells. Six Little Girls. 

That Boy Bob. Two Boys. 

Mary Burton Abroad. 
Pansy's Picture Book. 410, board, $1.50 ; cloth, $2.00. 
The Little Pansy Series. 10 volumes. Boards, 
$3.00 ; cloth, $4.00. 

Nora Perry. 

Bessie's Trials at Boarding-school. i2mo, $1.25. 

Austin Phelps. 

The Still Hour. i6mo, cloth, $.60; gilt, $1.00. 
Work of the Holy Spirit. 161110, cloth, $1.25. 

Edward A. Rand. 

Roy's Dory. 121110, cloth, illust., $1.25. 

Pushing Ahead. i2mo, cloth, illust., $1.25. 

After the Freshet. 121110, cloth, $1.25. 

All Aboard for Sunrise Lands. Illust., boards, 

$1.75; cloth, $2.25. 
Tent in the Notch. 161110, cloth, illust, $1.00. 
Bark Cabin. 161110, cloth, illust., $1.00. 

Margaret Sidney. 

Five Little Peppers. 121110, cloth, illust., $1.50. 



D, Lothrop 6° Co., Publishers. 

Half Year at Bronckton. i2mo, cloth, $1.25. 

Pettibone Name. 121110, cloth, illust., $1.25 
So As by Fire. 121110, cloth, illust., Si. 2 5. 

Spare Minute Series. 

Edited by E. E. Brown. 
Thoughts that Breathe. (Dean Stanley). $1.00. 
Cheerful Words. (George MacDonald). $t.oo. 
The Might of Right. (W. E. Gladstone). $1.00. 
True Manliness. (Thos. Hughes). i2mo, cloth, $1.00. 

Wide Awake Pleasure Book. 

Edited by Ella Farman. 
Bound volumes A to M. Chromo cover, $1.50; 
full cloth, $2.00. 

T. D. Wolsey, D.D., LL. D. 

Helpful Thoughts for Young Men. i2mo, $1.25. 

Kate Tannatt Woods. 

Six Little Rebels. i2mo, cloth, illust., $1.50. 
Doctor Dick. i2mo, cloth, illust., $1.50. 

C. M. Yonge. 

i2mo, illustrated. 
Young Folks' History of Germany. $1.50. 
Young Folks' History of Greece. $1.50. 
Young Folks' History of Rome, ji.50. 
Young Folks' History of England* $1.50. 
Young Folks' History of France. $1.50. 
Young Folks' Bible History. Si. 50. 
Lances of Lynwood. i2mo, illust., $1.25. 
Little Duke. i2mo, illust., $1.25. 
Golden Deeds. i2mo, illust., $1.25. 
Prince and Page. i2mo, illust, 1.25. 
Little Lucy's Wonderful Globe. Boards, $.75 ; 
cloth, $1.00. 



D. Lothrop 6° Co., Publishers. 
Alice Perry. 

More Ways than One. i2mo, illust, $1.50. 

Wra. M. F. Rounds. 

Torn and Mended. i6mo, cloth, $1.00. 
John Saunders. 

The Tempter Behind. i2mo, cloth, $1.25. 

Rev. S. F. Smith, D. D. 

Rock of Ages. i8mo, cloth, gilt, $1.25. 
Stories of Success. i2mo, illust., $1.50. 
Noble Workers. i2mo, illust., $1.50. 
Myths and Heroes. 121110, illust., $1.50. 
Knights and Sea-kings. I2ir % illust., $1.50. 
America: Our National Hytrin. Quarto, cloth, illustrated, 
plain, $2.00 ; gilt, $3.00. 

George B. Bartlett. 

Concord Guide Book. i2mo, paper, illust., 50c; cloth, $1.00. 

Parlor Pastimes Boards, 50c. 

Jeremiah Chaplin. 

Life of Charles Sumner. i2mo, cloth, illust., §1.50. 
Chips from the White House. l2mo, cloth, $1.50. 
The Memorial Hour. i6mo, cloth, $1.25. 

Daniel Dorchester, D.D. 

Concessions of "Liberalists " to Orthodoxy. i6mo, cloth, 

31.25. 

Mary Hewitt. 

Bright Days. i2mo, cloth, Si. 25. 

Mrs. S. D. Power (Shirley Dare). 

Behaving. 161110, paper, 50c. ; cloth, $1.00. 

James A. Harrison. 

History of Spain, izmo, cloth, one hundred illustrations, 
$1.50; half Russia, $2.00. 

Clara Erskine Clement. 

History of Egypt. 121110, cloth, illust, $1.50; half Russia, 

$2.00. 



Z>. Lothrop 6* Co., Publishers. 
S. G. W. Benjamin. 

Our American Artists. First Series. Quarto, cloth, gilt 

$2.00. 
Our American Artists. Second Series. Quarto, cloth, gilt, 

$2.00. 

W. H. G. Kingston. 

Voyage of the Steadfast. i2mo, cloth, illust., $1.00. 

Charley Laurel, i2mo, cloth, illust., $1.25. 

Virginia. i2mo, cloth, illust., $1.25. 

Little Ben Hadden. i2mo, cloth, illust., $1.25. 

Young Whaler. i2mo, clo f illust., 75c. 

Fisher Boy. i2mo, cloth, illust., $1.00. 

Peter, the Ship Boy. i2mo, cloth, illust., $1.00. 

Ralph and Dick. i2mo, cloth, illust., $1.00. % 

Arthur Gilman. 

Kings, Queens and Barbarians. i6mo, illust., $1.00. 

Annette L. Noble. 

St. Augustine's Ladder. i2mo, illust., $1.50. 

William Shakespeare's Complete Works. 

Household Edition. i2mo, cloth, illust., $2.00. 
Rossetti Edition. 8vo, cloth, illust., $3.50; half Russia, $6.00; 
full Turkey, $9.00. 

Phebe A. Hanaford. 

George Peabody : His Life and princely Benevolence. i2mo, 

illust., $1.50. 
Charles Dickens (Life and Writings of). i2mo, cloth, illust., 

$1.50. 
Abraham Lincoln: His Life and public Services. i2mo, 

cloth, illust., $1.25. 

Hezekiah Butterworth. 

Notable Prayers of Christian History. i2mo, cloth, illust., 

$1. 50. 
Young Folks' History of Boston. i2mo, cloth, illust, $1.50. 
Young Folks' History of America. i2mo, cloth, illust, $1.50. 
How Dot heard the Messiah. i6mo, cloth, illust., 50c. 



The Yensie Walton Books. 



:.t ptn :: l>lr* S, 
■.er!:: i: : : _-t:::t 

r t !: t : : _ ■ : _ : -. : '.i 



and Presbyter. 

yznsiz waito:;. or?, stptzzt. 

yznsiz ytj^lton'S vTOZii:hood. 

THZ TZITZZ Z. AXHGB. 

i2~:. : ' :.i:ti ur.:::rrr. 7.1.7:.:- *: :: ti:... 

yi::?:z waiiox. 

• V-:;,'."::::: :y V- S. 7... C--7..L- 7'.i7:. Z: = -.:r. 77 L::r,- 
rop & Co. Full of striking incident and scenes of great pathos, wish 

c:m::~i.- z.t-- .'.".:- :: :._r.:: i':i : ~ : "iv 7 rtit: :: lit mrs :: 
pa~5 cf :it r_arrLivt. Tit :.-.:-.-:- ::trs i . .- et 1 :::!- in-- an: ;.. :::■ 
eral, are thoroughly human, not gifted with impossible perfections, but 

hi'irr i.:tt irTirrriits ::' : it it: . i :i ~iit -i ai :•: : I: ~ 7 ::- it 
rank :~::.r -.it its: i::i:-: p::_i: 5 _:. :i; ■■::..: :. : : : .-::- — Z;l::::zl 
Register. 

A: -t : if \~ \ :■".:'. ift : it: and y=: :: r;i:.t:: in: t res: :^ i:id 

:it i".: t . ' :. : :. 7 it ::. :s: : '■. :t ess rtadt: — Z ::■.' : .-..:.::: -.:■; . 

YENSIE WALTON S TTCI i.^ Ii: iD. 

7. t : 7i t nait :it a::_a:r.:a : t • : Vt:-i " 

ton " in one of the best Sunday-school books erer published, wiD be 
lighted to renew that acquaintance, and to keep their former compai 

s:n. rnrintr ::~~ an; ..:: r ._.:-: _ .::t . ; :- . =:: : : : :t r.i n= ::nt :: 
vrit'.t =:-rv ana ::= :ea:h:r.g = :: ~: 77v and riiri: art : r= 
healthful and :7i :: s~tt:-t-.t = r £ :t: :; Tit = ::rv ti a 
cessor to Mrs. Clark's previous work.— Awfcwr Pod. 

Tit itr::r.t 7 an exit t -.:::--:- . ::t: :: :~.:a:::n an i :it tnntrt am 



OUE stzz: 



. iei-i "112 



:~i- 



^LCJ£OH ; ^-t-v:::;:i:r- 

D. LOIH30P cz CO.. Puclisiiers.. Boston, 



THE PANSY BOOKS. 

There are substantial reasons for the great popularity of the " Pansy 
books," and foremost among these is their truth to nature and to life. 
The genuineness of the types of character which they portray is indeed 
remarkable ; their heroes bring us face to face with every phase of home 
life, and present graphic and inspiring pictures of the actual struggles 
through which victorious souls must go. 

"Her stories move alternately to laughter and tears." . . . "Brimful of 
the sweetness of evangelical religion." . . . "Influence cannot fail to be 
beneficent." . . ." Girl life and character portrayed with rare power." 
" Impressive and fascinating." . . . "A wondrous freshness and 
vitality appearing on every page." ..." The cause of temperance 
is sustained with rare power, tact and interest." ..." The value and 
happiness of trusting in God happily exemplified.' ' . . . "Nothing 
for the young surpasses this collection." ..." Too much cannot be 
said of the insight given into the true way of studying and using the word 
of God." . . . These are a few quotations from words of praise every- 
where spoken. 

The " Pansy books " may be purchased by any Sunday-school without 
hesitation as to their character or acceptability. 

The Pansy Books. 



An Endless Chain. Sr.50. 

A new Graft on the Family Tree. 

1.50. 
Bernie's White Chicken .75. 
Chautauqua Girls at Home. 1.50. 
Cunning Workmen. 1.25. 
Divers Women. 1.50. 
Docia's Journal. .75. 
Dr. Deane's Way. 1.25. 
Echoing and Re-echoing 1.50. 
Ester Ried. 1.50. 
Ester Ried " Yet Speaking." 1.50. 
Five Friends. 1.00. 
Four Girls at Chautauqua. 1.50. 
From Different Standpoints. 1.50. 
Getting Ahead. .75. 
Grandpa's Darlings. 
Hall in the Grove. 
Helen Lester. .75. 
Household Puzzles. 
Half Hour Library. 
Jessie Wells .75. 
Julia Ried. 1.50. 
King's Daughter (The). 1.50. 
Links in Rebecca's Life. 1.50. 
Mary Burton Abroad. .75. 
Mrs. Solomon Smith Looking On 

1.50. 



1.25. 



1.50. 
3.20. 



Man of the House. 1.50. 

Miss Priscilla Hunter and MyDaugh- 

ter Susan. 1.25. 
Modern Prophets. 1.50. 
Mother's Boys' and Girls' Library. 

3.00. 
Mrs. Deane's Way. 1.25. 
Mrs. HarryHarper'sAwakening. 1.09 
Next Things. 1.00. 
New Year's Tangles. 1.00. 
Pansy's Scrap Book. 1.00. 
P.msy's Picture Book. 2.00. 
Pansies. .75. 
Pansy's Primary Library. 
Pocket Measure. 1.50. 
Randolphs (The). 1.50. 
Ruth Erskine's Crosses. 
Sidney Martin's Christmas. 
Six Little Girls. .75. 
Some Young Heroines. 1.00. 
Side by Side. .60. 
That Boy Bob. 75. 
The Little Pansy Series. 4.00. 
Three People. 1.50. 
Tip Lewis and His Lamp. 1.50. 
Two Boys. .75. 
Wise and Otherwise. 1.50. 
What She Said. 1.25. 



7.50- 



1.50. 
1.50. 



D. LOTHROP & CO., Publishers, Boston. 



EE-oiin hoioe eoozs io?. r : , v i:2?.i?.:i?, 



By E. A. Rand. 



11 f Can \c- .-"_ , C cc;!:e. 



- -' .. . 

i Dory, 
Little 
After i - Fit 






By Margaret Siduev. 






F> 



■ . : 

: " 



£: :: 



Br Irlarie Olirer, 

- 

Ha n ikon, . . . ; : ; 

Ey lire. g. R. O. Clark. 

set 

"-" - -..- " ' : Ml, . 

I . J. J. ioUcr. 
ae . iet Lij 



: : Robt 2 Ms 



The ? ■: 
S as by Firs 
I 

By Paasf. 

el ■ . ' 

ES, . 

Soldi". I Servant, by EUa - . . 

Keenie v. J- e M. lj::ik^:e: C: 

H II I . : : : 5usa M. Moulton, . _ . 

Echoes from Ho; t ■ i Wbi:- H: =e L: 7.e- 

: :be -' 
Not of M jy Jacob M. Mi 

Cambr IgeSe - . . 

AS: " : - - "■" ",V. r . I -. : ire. 

Right to the Point Frc :£ Theodore L. C _ 

Prom ... 

For M 5. J. Burke ... 

Little . " her ?.■-■■: t. . 

I .... 

: ::::: :: A: :d; ■ L . ■■. el! 

I . 7 - 

[The Baptism of I e - i - ; I ; aid Smith, 

.- R: :';;•_: = -: K i :cr_l : 

Thr< »hSl _ : e 1 

Three oS Us K : - ' '. . , . 

Break: . "1 !:::':"?. . 

■ the Hei« : L I : _ _ . 

I a and Me - ~ " j f Round, . 

That Bo [New! L. Bates,. 

The C:- = : '-: :y -I V Met ison, 
"_ . - \ ; ; .- - by Annie j H : 

Six Mc thsat Mr= Prior's, bv_i.:~.-"y Ad: . = 
A Fortum te Fa ire lyC I LeRow, 
Carrie Ells I . 

The Pj 1 

***LOTHROF'~ SELECT 5 ; LIBRARIES. The 
est books at ve 

ADMIRABLE TEMPERANCE BOOKS. 

The : y '" j : . 

i Bremnr : y A .-. 1 
- 

- ; rH, by Jot 
-" Mary D. Cheulis. 

y Mary I 
. 



$: - : z 

: : c 



5- 



- -5 

i 25 

- :-- 

I 25 

• :. : 
■ «5 

: - : 

« ;- 

I ©o 

: : : 

I -} 
I CO 

i 25 
i 25 

I CO 

: :. : 
i 25 

:.: 

I CO 

i 25 

- :. : 

I CO 

i 25 
I 25 

: :: 
1 '-! 
1 25 

1 25 

- : : 



£1 ':' 
I 25 

I -: 
■ -: 



'- ':'- 



r * ^e»»r>.. I>. I.othrop A: Co.. r :=::::. ?.'.=•: r : : :h: ceedra: = d 

I . . ' ■: . z - :; . . y o "- : . . 






